Waves Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Waves drifting on the sea,
Like a sweet flowing melody;
I hear the murmurs of waves,
Pictures from seafloor graves.

A fairy tale I don't know,
In the tiding and its flow;
The echoes of oceans before,
Enlightenments, I'm not sure.

Oh the sun touches the sea,
The one that sails inside of me;
Oh the sun touches the sea
And lets me fly like a bird free.

Sail ahead of the hour,
Onto the formatting ocean;
Where the blue wave bower,
Like a mirror of motion.

Fairy tales are for a reason,
Like the world we live in;
They're different each season,
Like the worlds afar within.

Oh the sun touches the sea,
The one that sails inside of me;
Oh the sun touches the sea
And lets me fly like a bird free.

Eternally on and on
When we sail imaginary free
There are vastly things for fun
For travelers there to see.

Waves drifting on the sea,
Like a sweet flowing melody;
I hear the murmurs of waves,
Pictures from seafloor graves.