Thanksgiving at Sea
The gulls cried dawn across the bow,
A chorus rough and free,
As sailors gathered, windswept, worn,
For thanks upon the sea.
No heaping feast of orchard lands,
No harvest fields of gold—
But salt-kissed air and steady hands,
And stories weathered, old.
The rolling waves our tablecloth,
The sky our vaulted hall,
We broke our bread with gratitude
For ship, for stars, for all.
For distant hearths and waiting lights
That glow on shorelines far,
For comrades bound by rope and storm
Stronger than any spar.
And as the sun dipped low in flame
Beyond the ocean’s rim,
We gave our thanks to wind and tide,
To courage, faith, and whim.
For every soul who sails the deep,
This truth remains our guide—
That gratitude is an anchor strong,
In calm or rising tide.
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