Sing if you will of crashing seas
and battling through the surging waves
or of being the sea's slaves.
Write, even, of white caps and breeze
above fresh water-flooded trees.

For there are those who seek such strife,
searching for the spice of thrill
(perhaps testing strength of will).
They say that danger adds to life
even forsake their kin and wife.

Is their daily life so dull
offering so little to give
making them scorn and be dismissive
of peace offered by the storm's lull?
May that be the maelstrom's pull?

I prefer my waters small, serene.
Storms 'aplenty have come my way
blowing plans and hopes away.
Let small waves lap gentle and green.
Enough rough waters I have seen.