Echoes On The Wind Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The ink on my fingers is fading but slow,
A quiet surrender of time,
The heavy salt spray that once furrowed my brow
Now moves to a gentler rhyme.

I carried the torch through the storm and the black,
With a compass that never failed true,
Which never looked down, and never looked back,
To keep the course steady for you.

Now your hand is reaching to take up the flame,
With a pulse that is eager and strong,
To write your own verses, to honor the name,
And sing your own version of the song.

The ship will sail onward, the current runs deep,
The lineage unbroken and free,
The creative fire is yours now to keep,
Born out of the soil, and the sea.