A Waxen Sea - Inter Arma

Placid is the toll of the iron bell

As its resonance washes against the hills

And settles into the dry beds and knotted groves

Of the sun-parched valley at rest below

The morning rises guardedly

Over a stirring countryside

Illuminating the far off sea

A waxen shield, horizon’s protector

As I stagger up from the sun-bleached tiles

Where in night’s revelry I laid my head

I lean against a rusting lattice and compose my thoughts

My waking eyes held spellbound by a waxen sea

I raise my hands to the sea beyond

Intoxicated by the winds that whip up from her fair shores

I’ll mind any road, be they tranquil or pestilent

Through knotted, olden grove or stone-strewn ruin

To wander her fair shores

To be adrift in the azure

To covet the sea breeze

To daydream upon her dunes

All in due time

All in due time

All in due time

Placid is the toll of the iron bell

As its resonance washes against the hills