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Tis' not for the beauty of the bay we come
Like children to a mother's shore,
To free our hearts and be as one
To taste her breeze and feel her lore,
She draws from something deep within
A heron's call, and eagle's wing,
A soothing voice from an ancient friend
A deeper pull, an ageless dream.
This restive queen of inland seas
A thousand eons she has reigned,
Before we crawled from the primal reeds,
And stood to face her autumn rains,
When the "drudger's" final breeze falls still
The brogans turn at last towards home.
The "nippers" sleep by the window sills,
And shadows play on the restless foam.
What words can we give to justice do
What feeling tethered in our hearts,
Can grant our souls a faith renewed
A place of hope amidst the dark,
It's not for the beauty of the bay we come
To stand and gaze across her shores,
But to free our hearts and be as one
When once we stood, at heaven's door.

– Terry Moore ©2015