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What is it here that won't let go,
That locks this place into your heart?
The sea's voice calls, your spirit knows
To hold the memory, clear and sharp.

Horseshoe crabs and drifting dunes
In shadows 'neath the gull's gray wing,
Tattered clouds and crocus blooms
And full white sails alive with dreams.

The seasons roll, the herring run
Terns nest once more, the stickles mate
The blizzards blow and the seals return,
The eels swim out and the birds migrate.

Nantucket sleighrides and gayhead lore
Captain's homes on quiet lanes,
Mooncusser's ghosts along the shores
Where daytrippers come to plant their names.

Old windmills line Cranberry Road
Where Nancy's "heath-ins" once long strayed
The path of Beston, and Thoreau
By the moors and bogs where the marsh hawks play.

When the wind comes 'round from George's Bank
And the whales in the distance blow,
And Jack Frost clings to every plank,
Then the cape delivers up her soul.

'Tis there in the glistening of the dawn
With a sliver of the moon "to west"
You'll hear her sweet and ancient song
And count yourself among her blessed.

What is it here that won't let go
That stirs within forevermore?
The years may fly but the spirit knows
You've cast your heart with her ocean's roar.

– Terry Moore ©2015