The smells carried in on the off-shore wind,
Were a book once read to me.
A story told in a thousand holds,
That border on the sea.
Far behind, yet still, marking the will,
Of the man I've grown to be,
No stretch of plains, no mountain range,
Can keep me from the sea.
If my soul may return from casket or urn,
Let it sail, let it soar high and free.
I'll be a gull that screams and sculls,
In the spray above the sea.
Donovan Baldwin