Very recently I spent a day at the Pensacola Beach with my grandchildren, Graicyn, Knighten, and Phanton, whom I have never met before. I can’t imagine any more words added to this introduction could help you have a better understanding of the emotion that inspired this poem.
My Tender Waves
Fathoms, Fathoms, waves break the sandy shore,
Crystal clear to blue to green,
As they did 10,000 years before.
Priding themselves as frothy acrobats,
twisting an opaline sheen
then rolling slowly to liquid mattes.
And others themselves quite definitely shy,
the roaring waves so high.
Those are mine, I should think of all
the waves I have seen,
the whitecaps, the smoothies, the tall;
It’s the shy ones hiding amidst the surf
to make a beautiful scene
with their incremental kerf.
If you chance upon the gulf to play,
on any given blue or grey day,
and you find the waves hiding away,
please know I have already been.
And if your thoughts should ever come to weigh
the chance of claiming that wave astray,
then I should just obligingly say,
you may have it as philipeen.
For you can never own a wave, nor anything
other than a moment, you see.
And that’s why I shall always sing
of grandkids in those waves with me.
So the waves I gladly offer you and pray
those moments with the kids shall ever stay,
knowing timid waves can’t wash them away.
For that’s the reason, my dear friend,
as the moments live forever,
that waves begin and never end.