One Peasant Boy In Roughened Garb.

In time of wavemakers, time of a navigators art,

t'was said, then,

"Many lives were lost! Many souls torn-apart!"

For, even; When the landfolk wailed, pled,

screamed, for mercy-mild,

those breakers no attention paid :

their salt-wrath still they piled.

And
distant clouds -: with anger; dark,
rolled forth. They sang of doom.
They came determined
And
with might,
in greyness of their gloom.

The land-folk quailed, bowed in fear,

laid their eyes not to whence flew scence of woe;

instead: most scattered - this way and that!

Some knew not where to go.

One peasant boy, in roughened garb, stood:

arms out-strcthed, a-welcoming;

this lad showed no despair,
delight he showed the stormy sea,
sea-wind a-swept his hair.

"Sea Gods!" hailed he,
" I love thou bane-vexation thou dost show.
Pray;- let me join and be of thee; for to
thine sea-wrath know! "

His words clad his request, arose they into those

rue-filled air,

as soon:

yon lad was took and became part of sea-storms

foul repair.

"Aye, hearts twining. Wavemakers, Navigators,
and Land-folk; all wept hard!"

t'was said, then,

"T'was at once the death and last the birth of one peasant boy in roughened garb."

fg 1993