the Sandpiper’s call

the wind laps his legs
like tide ‘round the trees
the branches that grow
toward heavenly seas

and floating in the skies
the winter-white creeps
blown by the ebb

of eddies that weep

in the watery ways,
the paths of the breeze
he floats on his sails
of feathery skis

his feet are his anchor
his rudder a tail
he sports in the wind
above the sea kale

his compass points north
he always flies true
on great ocean waves
of decadent hue

wind-tossed and driven
we push from the shore
that golden gleam beach
is left to find more

though storms dot the skies
on the ocean we brave
he waits on the shore
for us to be saved

his plume is unnoted
but we all know his lore
he watches us wander
and calls us ashore

~ R. Harder