Seaside Simplicity Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

He sits upon a pile of wood
thick branches torn from trees
storms born in frozen arctic wombs
snapped with apparent ease

He's lived upon this sandy shore
and weathered what it sowed
and harvested from rocky soil
all this bleak earth bestowed

He salted many bony fish
to eat with coarse dark bread
he pickled herring in a vat
hid in a clapboard shed

There was no lack of work to do
when youth walked by his side
and when the reaper's shadow came
he'd sit and watch the tide

The seagulls and the little terns
would caw and squawk and fly
as if to entertain the man
before he up and died

There was no anger in his heart
no wish to move away
no urge to try some richer fare
no need to change his day

The children and their budding broods
had left there long ago
his wife still spins thick yellowed wool
and kneads soft risen dough

His life is simple and serene
sprinkled with daily blends
of sun and rain and wind and birds
and red skies at day's end

Today this coast is lined with bricks
and well lit waterfalls
fine palms have blotted barren ground
to grace bright hotel walls

He sat upon a pile of wood
sun bleached untrimmed forlorn
they snapped like tinder in the wind
who cares now or will mourn?