Sonnet XII



See not, my love, a poet by the sea

Shore standing like an ancient stone carved from

The living land. Such men as he, they come

Here often, thinking that the waves will free

Their tongues to sing of beauty, glory and

Such great eternal things. They seek to find

The spark which means the sea, and then to bind

It 'bout with words, held thus, to make it grand.


No, rather see before you one who knows

The thrust of waves upon the rocks--who goes

Along the shore with sim'lar thoughts. I bring

You here to love you on the sand and sing

To you that seas are better bound by land,

Moonlight, bright stars, and lovers hand in hand.


                                                                        Christopher J. Cramer

                                                                        August 1983