Blithely, the ocean calls us out to play,
Merrily waving at the waiting shore;
On this glorious, balmy, wintry day,
As the seagulls swoop down to soar.
The royal palm trees genuflect and bow,
to the miracle of the rising sun,
that daily keeps its sacred ancient vow,
enlightening all worlds, neglecting none.
The silver sands sift playfully at will,
like errant thoughts that ebb with flowing tides;
Tantalizing, teasing, taunting still,
as the roar of the mighty waves subsides.
These wonders are but ours to see,
Yet, blind we are, and all at sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem