Feather floating noiseless to the sand far below,

To rest on dunes erupting in granulated waves.

~~

Their spartan populous withdrawn by storm and tide,

Only to reappear like immigrants in distant lands.

~~

Screeching cries of gulls flock shatter silence,

Angels tipped in black searching for the days next meal.

~~

Insatiable appetite wills winged soldiers onward,

Scavenging for fish or for crab or for worm.

~~

Fisherman’s friends are the dunes and the gulls,

A beacon to the nearness of home.

~~

The boat is a shepherd towing gulls in it’s wake,

Swooping low to put eyes on the catch.

~~

Port is in sight, but this does not deter,

Showing neither fear of man or of sea.

~~

A nod of the head and a knowing smile shared,

Eases pain from their back breaking chores.

~~

Loved ones await braving inclement weather,

To welcome the unsung with open arms.

~~

The next home-bound crews will be greeted in like,

With the dunes and the gulls as their mates.

~~

This is how it must be and how it always has been,

For granted these men do not take.

~~ D. R. DiFrancesco ~~