Walking On The Morning Beach Poem by David McLansky

The herons cry, the sea gulls screech,
In the graying light of dawn
I come upon a sandy form;

And reaching down I almost toddle,
Grasping it, it is a bottle,
Caked with sea weed and with sand,
It feels so cold within my hand;

I brush the sand off the green glass,
I almost drop it from my grasp;
But seeing there's a note within,
I am intrigued by such a whim;

I work the cork to pull it out,
It's glued within the tapered spout,
I hold the bottle by the stock
And smash it on a sea side rock;

I lift the paper from the shards,
And open it, it is a card;
It's damp with algae and sea stained,
It bears a cry, 'Please love Elaine.'

For who on what isle so remote
Would send this missive, desperate note;
To whom there'd be such chanced appeal;
Above the sea gulls float and wheel;

From what sandy strand or distant cove
Did she cast this treasure trove,
An urgent cry from out the heart,
But where to find her, where to start?

And so I'm on the internet,
As a path a better bet;
To find the soul far out of reach,
Who's cry I found upon the beach.