A West Coast Lover’s Vow

I vow to never be land locked—

no Kansas home for me.

There I’m bound to stray off course.

My compass is the sea.


I wouldn’t choose to be walled in

by trees, however grand.

My soul seeks to see beyond

the frontiers of the land.


I would wither, stranded far

away from salty breeze;

I need the sea—but not to sail—

just the air to breathe.


Let me open windows to

the wide Pacific skies,

to deep azure waves that soothe

and wash over my eyes.


If bad luck obscures my way,

then orient me west—

away from morning’s rising sun

to where it sinks for rest.




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