The weather vane was pointed west
The rain had yet to fall
Two more days on the open road
You could hear the thunder call.
Holy water in the fountain
A few steps down the hall
Where the tired come to rest
See the writing on the wall.
Rain, rain is falling hard
It’s dancing on the ground
So many people come to see
See the journeys end on a Hobe Sound summers eve
The old man stands at the end of the trees
With the ocean in his eyes
Listen real close and you’ll hear him come alive
Dancing all night to the sound of the rain
The tin roof plays a song
Ask the wind to sing along
Sing it gently to the rain.
She asked me, can you feel it
And she tried to touch the sun
I just want to hold her in my arms
Her mind running wild
Like an eagle in a storm.
She’s got a smile like a child
looking thru her memories like a vision in a window pane
Every little thing is all she wants to see
Starring at the moon
Trying to touch the sun
Thinking all the while
What else is there to see.
Once inside the sunshine
A full moon in the rain
Everything is going to be O.K.
She said, everything is going to be just fine
And I feel it deep inside.
Lovely eyes look inside
See what there is to see
A runaway train, an eagle in the sky
Tell me what you see
Try and touch the sun
Show it all to me.
The wind and the rain of August began
The south was waiting for winter
Ninety nautical miles to the north
The ghosts of lost ships are looking for a harbor.
The Whaler’s adrift on an ocean of pain
with waves as tall as her sails
the ghosts of the crew know this storm isn’t thru
until the waves start flooding the galley.
The storm of 1682 set the Whaler adrift
With a crew that still stands beside her
as she sails thru moments and time
looking for a harbor somewhere out of memory.
When the sky opens up and the seas come un-done
The moon seems to laugh and stay hidden
Showing no light or a path thru the storm
The Whaler was thrown into legend.
When the storm season ends by the light of the moon
With all of her sailors on board
The Whaler is seen looking for harbor
a place to weather the storm.
Jeff Nesvig is a writer living in Florida.