I will cross the sea.

And leave my shore behind;

A twenty-seven foot boat awaits me, filled with teachers.

 

I will cross the sea.

Climbing into the wooden boat, my knees are skinned;

Ouch! No matter I am here now, with unexpected friends. How nice.

 

I will cross the sea.

They all talk about God, and some journey;

They were all hurt getting into the boat too. That’s strange.

 

I will cross the sea.

Someone is asleep at the stern; the wind increases;

The boat resembles the roof of my church, whitecaps now.

 

I will cross the sea.

Waves now wash in, some are shouting, others calm;

Twelve terrified men stumble towards the man in the stern; still sound asleep.

 

I will cross the sea.

If we sink now, amongst this chaos, we will be protected, I think;

No. I am sure. Hey what’s happening they woke the poor guy up.

 

I will cross the sea.

He stood up, stretched out his arms, but not a waking stretch;

The seas dropped, and fear. We are in the right boat. We are safe. Who is this man?

 

Copyright 2013 Michael J. Cunningham