Blue sea, blue sea, speak to the image of long-gone spring,
Hear all the memories of God's goodbyes
In the coming of winter that hearkens a sigh.
Heave just a little, and life goes away,
Lift both your hands to the saltwater spray,
Clutching its goodness, its paleness, its pain
Feeling the scorn of December's chilled rain.
Here comes the future, with banks ripe with snow,
The thick, floating chunks of the ice that you tow,
And the sense that the summer has left you in shame,
With only your blue baltic beauty to blame.