When I have lived my years, I shall recall
of days when I would not recant my youth,
the hours I walked among the sandy dunes,
observing gulls that flew 'till they were small
upon horizons far 'neath dusty moon.
My mother was the sea, my father, sun—
I was the morning light through seaweed dun—
that tides had strung the shore we walked so soon.
If anything in childhood I regret,
my life would be too sentimental now,
when auburn frames an alabaster brow,
the names of all my starfish I'd forget.
What word I spoke in child-like melody,
became the verse that echoed from the sea.