To think about,
to remember.
To dream about,
in endless slumber.
To find words,
to describe and praise.
To draw and paint about,
on evenings and holidays.
To have all over,
my amazed mind.
To desire to look at,
until I go blind.
Your eyes,
your welkinly eyes.
Have caused an addiction,
of an incurable kind.
Just the shore of the ocean,
but I know they are.
With countless fathoms of beauty,
veiled behind.
And as I look at them,
I so dearly long.
To be a sailor,
and all else of this ocean to find.
