The philosopher loves the forest
and perhaps we twig what he means:
more than just praise for the deer and the trees.
Where you can hide, you can also be free.
But nothing is like the sea.
The cliff edge I say is the heartland,
leaving middle of nowhere behind.
Where the sun melts into the water,
you can't be lost
because you've arrived.
Here, we believe, we can find our peace,
home beside the danger and chance,
where life began
and creaky sailings
took us off to freedom at last.
The thinker lies buried in his forest,
and I'll lay down
a woodland flower wreath;
but the wind in the leaves is still loveliest
when it sounds most like the sea.