The tide

The ocean beckons calling out to me,
Beseeching me draw nearer, to look upon her sea,
Her salty whispers spoken with foamy lips of brine
Offering me her bosom, a salty tomb enshrine,

Where will the sea take me? I don't know.
Into the deeps of the ocean, carrying me out with the undertow,

Where will the winds sweep me? Will they toss me upon the glassy water still?
The ocean will not tell me, and I know she never will,

But If my feet should never touch land again I know,
The sea will be a loving mother, and dress me for death when I go,
My bones will be washed clean, a human coral made,
Polished on the rocky bottom, is where my bones be laid,
My hair will be like the kelp that washes up to shore,
Strands of supple seaweed were chestnut locks before,

Where will the sea take me? I don't know.
Into the deeps of the ocean, carrying me out with the undertow,

Where will the winds sweep me? Will they toss me upon the glassy water still?
The ocean will not tell me, and I know she never will,

My heart will be found in the flashing fickle tide,
That foolish men try to conquer in their fatal human pride,
My soul in the crashing waves, will be,
To lure men to the water's edge, as surely, she lured me,
My love will be in the currents that constantly swirl and twist,
That rise up in mighty mountains of soaring salty mist,
And one day I'll wash upon some far and distant shore,
Not really me, but the more the sea, than the me that was before.

Where will the sea take me? I don't know.
Into the deeps of the ocean, carrying me out with the undertow,

Where will the winds sweep me? Will they toss me upon the glassy water still?
The ocean will not tell me, and I know she never will.