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Their spartan populous withdrawn by storm and tide,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 ~~