The Sea At Fremantle Poem by Rory Hudson

Your white spray shoots, and the foam
falls forward splintering on the sand, O sea;
and I who sit in dim ineptitude, think:
would I were near you now! not hidden here
behind the veil of this land’s foolish longings,
laughing and crying, those sad and mortal callings,
the ragged riches of an ailing race.

Great grey sea, whose hollows and crests
crash on the foreshore, sea who swells and surges
forth from her depths, far from land -
mother of men, may you make me
once more fearful, furious as you fall
upon the torn edges of this dim world’s awakening.