Of trees and the sea (II)

The wind sighs
in the yellow grass
in the boughs
of the green pines

The hills roll
released from their
glacial prison
before mankind got here

I watch the moon
set behind a roofline
The trees mark
my horizon around me

Only on the road of kings
do I have an unimpeded view
but the sea remains
a long distance away

I can't hear its questioning voice
I can't just cross the road to it
It's not just a dozen miles
to meet the Atlantic

I can feel its presence from afar
I can hear beyond hearing
its caressing voice
as always, wherever I was

When I'm back by the sea
I'll hear the trees sighing from afar
as the wind rustles in the grass
looking for me, when I'm not here

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