The Storm Is My Lullaby

The hearth is warm, the fire is bright,
A golden glow against the night.
The breath of earth, the solid ground,
The sweetest peace that can be found.
I miss the tea, I miss the shore,
The quiet knock upon my door.
But oh, the salt, and oh, the deep,
Where ancient, restless spirits sleep.
I love my home, its steady light,
But I crave the fury of the night.
The velvet dark, the crushing wave,
The wild unknown that makes me brave.
The stars grow dim behind the grey,
As evening draws the light away.
The sky falls dark, a waiting shroud,
While distant thunder shakes the clouds.
No lantern flame, no star to guide,
All else fades before the storm outside.
Let the midnight gale sweep round the mast,
Let the ghosts of lost sailors rise from the past.
There is a magic in the gale,
That makes the bravest soul pale.
A lonely dance on shifting tides,
Where only the ocean’s soul resides.
Deep blue, dark sky...
The storm is my lullaby.
Just the sea and the night,
And the familiar Northern Lights.