Sonnet (14 lines) Attempt 1

Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Mariners bear tidings of incoming gloom;
Broiling clouds lay claim the foreshadowed doom;
Incoming tides bring forth gifts from the nations,
Appreciated as artifacts of nautical sojourn,
Tumbled with flotsam, polished by solemnity,
Their petrified textures hewn by antiquity;
Out of the depths of cavernous tides they adjourn;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
Why do they hover as harbingers of grief?
Conceived from the soulful ancient plea for relief,
Wistful calm watches the violent hush;
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?

21 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods