**Saltwater Reverie**
In the twilight of tides, where the sea meets the sky,
Lives an old man, weathered and wise, with a salt-crusted eye.
His hands, etched by years of hauling nets and casting lines,
Tell tales of tempests faced, of storms that danced with time.
He’s the captain of a 55-foot vessel, sturdy and true,
A sport fish named “Siren’s Call,” her bow slicing through
The briny waves, chasing elusive dreams on the horizon,
As seagulls weave their symphony, and dolphins play in unison.
His skin, bronzed by sun and sea, wears the map of his life,
Each wrinkle a chapter, each scar a testament to strife.
He knows the secrets whispered by the wind and the gulls,
And the haunting lullabies sung by the moon as it pulls.
ms Mark
At dawn, he sets sail, guided by constellations above,
His heart anchored to the rhythm of the tides he loves.
He casts his net, a hopeful prayer flung into the deep,
Seeking silver-scaled treasures that the ocean will keep.
The saltwater sings to him—a siren’s serenade,
Of lost ships and mermaids, of love and storms delayed.
He listens, eyes squinting against the sun’s golden blaze,
As memories rise like ghostly ships from forgotten days.
Sometimes, when the moon hangs low, he gazes afar,
Wondering if Poseidon himself steers his weathered spar.
Does the sea remember his laughter, his tears, his strife?
Or does it merely carry echoes of a sailor’s transient life?
And when the day wanes, and the stars emerge from hiding,
He steers the Siren’s Call back to harbor, gently gliding.
The old man steps ashore, salt-kissed and weary,
His heart still tethered to the waves, forever bleary.
So raise a glass to the fisherman, the captain of lore,
Whose tales sail on salt breezes, from shore to distant shore.
May his spirit dance with dolphins, and his dreams never cease,
In the eternal embrace of the saltwater’s whispered peace.
