The Storm Poem by James McLain

The storm coming all can see washing
Myself in the sea.
Coming from the front or back where else
My love here be there to see?

The crab 🦀 can't talk to a fish 🐟 indeed
Nor a bully be nice to me.

Safe from the storm the foamy waves
That washed my feet till clean.
A conscious is hard to have when one
You don't.

Only the children cannot understand the
Conversation ones has with themselves.
There are no shortage of titles here my friends
Conversations mean two different thing's
To one's self.

Laughing out loud to myself alone I've found
A stone to sit upon my throne.