I dreamt last night of sandy shores
and whispering waves with tales of yore
of Gaelic men in ships with sails,
of waves that roared and treacherous gales;
who touched their prows on distant lands
that bore not gentle waves and sands,
but shorelines rocky, steep and cold
that tried the courage of men so bold.
My vision bore me then to beaches
lone and distant, beyond the reaches
of what the searchers had always known,
a world away from friends and home.
A new land full of rivers and trees,
and beauty as far as the eye could see;
natives who met them as friendly guests.
The searchers spread terror, disease and death.
Next the confiding seawaves spoke
of the times when the brave new lands awoke
to plunder and waste, and nameless hate
amid legions who tried to consecrate
this bold new ground to freedom strong;
the battle was rife with right and wrong.
The rolling waters told stories to quail
in this dream beyond the wakeful veil.
I awoke. The dream seemed to waver and fade.
I tried to recall but a barricade
of wispy fog and pervading gloom
enveloped my mind in a dark cocoon.
It seemed the waters knew all that transpired
from time immemorial, complete, entire.
And I? I know not if all was a dream,
or if I'd been there in this timeless scene.
© Joyce P. Hale
Photo by J.P.Hale