Hands outstretched cross cold North Sea
With arms thrown wide, becomingly
The shaded scene's from fantasy,
Entrapped within the vortices.... more »
I peer below through painted clouds
As the world slides 'neath my gaze.
And rolling over see fields of stars
Undimmed by smoke or haze.... more »
Who knows the true meaning of serenity?
Who knows the liquidious repose?
The place where a lull is a century
As above the waves open and close.
Yea, even a king is a mute,
For the element is not his own.
Neither his pages, his lyre, or lute
Can produce even a whispering tone.
The state is luxuriously quiet
The hubbub's been left far behind
For there is luxury even in reticence
And among rarities known to Mankind.