The Tropic Dawn
The tropic dawn is beautiful at sea,
The clouds respond so readily to light.
Though overhead the stars continue bright
And scattered like a broken string of beads,
The eastward doors of night are opened wide
And light floods all the ocean floor inside.
The sun gets up, a painter out of bed,
To work again his canvas of the world,
To change black water into blue instead,
To tint what little frantic foam gets hurled
From two waves’ temperaments with ruby fire,
And make the sea a thing for man’s desire.
The day comes gently, working through the clouds,
Which light and burn with brilliance many-hued.
A sailor somewhere singing in the shrouds
With naked chest and feet and arms tattooed,
