I will think no more of the sea! Of the big green waves And the hollowed <br />shore, Of the brown rock caves No more, no more Of the swell and the weed <br />And the bubbling foam. Memory dwells in my far away home, She has nothing <br />to do with me. She is old and bent With a pack On her back. Her tears all <br />spent, Her voice, just a crack. With an old thorn stick She hobbles along, <br />And a crazy song Now slow, now quick, Wheeks in her throat. And every day <br />While there's light on the shore She searches for something; Her withered <br />claw Tumbles the seaweed; She pokes in each shell Groping and mumbling <br />Until the night Deepens and darkens, And covers her quite, And bids her be <br />silent, And bids her be still. The ghostly feet Of the whispery waves <br />Tiptoe beside her. They follow, follow To the rocky caves In the white <br />beach hollow... She hugs her hands, She sobs, she shrills, And the echoes <br />shriek In the rocky hills. She moans: "It is lost! Let it be! Let it be! I <br />am old. I'm too cold. I am frightened... the sea Is too loud... it is lost, <br />It is gone..." Memory Wails in my far away home. 1913<br /><br />Katherine Mansfield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sea-song/
