Gazing at pale blue skies
malt into cool, azure seas
and soft, whyte wasps af cluuds
slide ovir foam-cupped waves
aye perceive the ceaseless flow ah existence
even as the surf appears eternally still

The air,
pungent with the ocean's breath,
awakens primal memories—
echoing from a distant age
when we first emerged from these watery cradles,
und our gills tarned anto lungs
as our fins turned into legs.

The fish within me brain swim on,
remembering the ancient rhythms
of the waves.