Lloyd E. Lawrence Sr

THE PUNJAB MARINER

The sun and me, sat on horizon’s calm,
As one would desire it to stay.
The air was fresh as pinewood balm,
“Me thought, what admission to pay?”
For mortal seaman made of clay,
Time is short in eternity.
How long I’d lived for that sweet day.
Said The Great God Of The Sea:
“Let it be.”

Then, the sea sang an angry psalm…
Surprising me that first of May.
The sea churned on its heavy palm
And could no’ this mariner could say.
God took harvest upon his tray,
As some with weak proclivity,
On the sandy bottom did lay.
Said The Great God Of The Sea:
“Let it be.”

Prayed this beggar to God for alms.
On stage of storm, I dared no’ play.
To late for those young drifting palms,
God’s tray they garnished yesterday.
They had no mouths from which to pray
For God’s sea-calming serenity.
Hearing me … the sea, God did stay.
Said The Great God Of The Sea:
“Let it be.”

God, from a rainbow, formed a lei
To arc o’er me so peacefully…
And it followed me into the bay.
Said The Great God Of The Sea:
“Let him be.”