At Sea


In the pull of the wind I stand, lonely,
On the deck of a ship, rising, falling,
Wild night around me, wild water under me,
Whipped by the storm, screaming and calling.

Earth is hostile and the sea hostile,
Why do I look for a place to rest?
I must fight always and die fighting
With fear an unhealing wound in my breast.


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add At Sea to your library.

Return to the Sara Teasdale library , or . . . Read the next poem; August Moonrise

© 2022