The sea speaks soft in twilight tones,
Through shells and stones and weathered bones.
It murmurs secrets on the breeze,
In sighing surf and swaying trees.
Its voice is not a cry or shout,
But something souls don’t live without.
A hush that hums through salt-kissed air,
A lullaby both wild and rare.
The tide, it tells of distant lands,
Of ships once lost, of open hands.
Of stars that guided sailors home,
Of hearts that wandered, meant to roam.
The whispers curl through moonlit foam,
Like ancient myths too shy to roam.
They echo in the seabird’s wing,
And in the hush low tide will bring.
Lean close, and you may hear them too—
The tales the deep still sings for you.
For though the sea may stretch and flee,
Its breath is near—its whispers, free.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and light,
Brenda Marie
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