Old Woman of the Sea: Years ago I wrote a children’s story and at the end of it I put this poem. I don’t normally write poetry that rhymes and scans and stuff – in fact, I don’t suppose this does really, but by my standards it’s pretty tight.
Old Woman of the Sea
Old Woman of the Sea is gathering, gathering
The freckled foam from the restless sea,
Her basket of bones hangs on her back,
She fills it up with mist and dreams.
Old Woman of the Sea is spinning, spinning
Her tight-wound yarn of mist and spray,
Her spindle of ivory rises and falls,
Thread of memories leading away.
Old Woman of the Sea is weaving, weaving
Her cloth of waves blown by the gale,
Loom of narwhal, shuttle of pearl,
Calling the magic through the veil.
Old Woman of the Sea is dancing, dancing
Wild as nature on the hard swept strand,
White horses are leaping, come to her call,
Astride, she rides to another land.