Roaming Poem by Amber Glistener

Roaming about this wavy sea,
the ship shakes and bustles about.
We wait to doc, but now we're free,
to sail all morn in the high sea's pout.

The ship rides wave after wave,
it tosses and jerks in every which way.
The sea pounds it but it will not cave,
the vessel is sturdy and strong in the day.

Roaming about this mysterious fog,
everything seems to lay still.
A mournful croak calls from a frog,
up my spine is sent a chill.

My cloak is wrapped around me tightly,
as is the arm on my friend's weapon.
We patrol this fog daily and nightly,
and find horrors too horrible to mention.

Roaming about this enchanted forest,
the birds sing cheerful tunes.
All the songs line up in a chorus,
as I transcribe from the tree's mysterious runes.

The book laid out upon my lap,
the forest beckons its visitor.
Dripping, plopping of the sap,
as the memories faintly rise from their whisper.

Roaming about the tall sand dunes,
the heat drives us insane.
No more from the birds in fancy tunes,
the snakes wish us to go back from which we came.

The bright sun climbs higher,
and beats down on us harder.
We sway and perspire,
and curse at the slinking marauders (behind us) .

Roaming about the towering mountains,
the mud grows deep and slick.
Water rises from heated fountains,
and in the mud our boots will stick.

We scrape and scuttle,
trip and slide,
we realize how long is truly this shuttle,
but never look down to see the side.

Wherever we go we always will roam,
whether it be in the frosty sea foam,
or in the fogs of mystery,
or encased in songs from the birds in tree.
Whether sand dunes curse down at us,
or mountains tower down through ruff.
Always we are,
ROAMING.