The smell of salt water,
The boats bounce slightly up and down,
as the current runs beneath their boughs,
The shadows dance as dusk proceeds
ending the warmth of the suns rays.
The waters tells its own story,
The seagulls fly above,
seeking any remnants of the day.
The boats are secured up tight
to dwell in silence through the night,
And when the dawn returns the day,
the fishermen arise,
they glance again out to sea,
living the life they ought to be.
Softly they can hear the calling of their name,
The beckoning out to sea,
And off they go,
To return from where they came.