I began my life a regal tree in a land without a name
A place not touched by measured time – except for seasons it stayed the same.
But then one day a storm it came and tore me from my place.
I lept and lurched and fell to the sea which surrounded my life-long space.
And the water licked and the waves they kicked and threw me towards the shore.
The rocks they bit and tore and smashed till I was a tree no more.
So now I travel, my various bits to exotic and foreign lands.
From shores with forests to shores with ice to shores with burning sands.
I’ve met others during my years at sea, with different intriguing claims.
The tales they tell are varied and strange, and some of those drifters have names.
I met a piece from an English ship, captured by pirates and sank.
Another chunk with iron and sights was a gun that had robbed a bank.
A piece from a cypress bough was used as a nest for an albatross.
While a haughty piece from the Middle East claimed it was a relic of the True Cross.
No matter what or where we’ve been we share similar ends and fates
Some ride the whirlpools and never progress, staying close to their original place.
Some ride the waves anywhere they’ll go, and cross any sea they face.
Others bob and float and enjoy the sun and are content with avoiding the race.
Others float alone until they tire and find themselves on a deserted beach
And others land until waves take them again – indefinitely out of reach.
One thing is certain about my vagabond life is that there’s never a dull time or place
I’ll continue to ride the waves until someone grabs me and nails me in place.