Liar

 

When the silver sands of the beach beckon,

I tell myself that I don't want to roll.

What does a lone ship at the sea reckon 

when I sail not but she can read my soul?

Though far away, I hear the mountains call-

I tell my limbs you are too old to climb.

And the echoes of the valleys recall

but I fear that I am not in my prime.

And when the long gliders fly in the sky

I close my eyes for they seem just too high.

But I am awake when the seagulls cry

for even daring to dream I am shy. 

How far do horizons appear to lie?

Or is it just me I wonder and sigh.