The Sea

With heavy feet I trod the desert sand;
My mouth is parched; I crave a drop of dew.
I see a deathly future, grim and bland,
That bids me to fallacious hope pursue.

I walk, I search; I happen on a hill.
Ahead, a blue expanse; a sweeping sea.
I tell myself the salt will make me ill,
But in my thirst, the water’s all I see.

If only it were fresh–my choice then clear!
I know I need a brook, a flowing creek.
And yet I see no river, far or near;
What hope have I to find that which I seek?

And with a sigh, I venture to the shore,
While knowing well I would but thirst the more.

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