back to the first dark cradle

Touch of the Tide

Oh! hush thee, my baby
the old sea murmurs through her teeth of foam,
calling you back to the first dark cradle
where the world learned to live.

The night is behind us,
yet it lingers like a shawl across your shoulders,
salt‑soft, moon‑stitched,
a comfort older than memory.

And black are the waters that sparkled so blue
I hear them whisper your name
in the language of kelp and undertow,
in the hush of creatures that rise only in dreams.

The moon, o’er the combers,
leans low as a listening mother,
her silver fingers brushing your brow
as if to bless your drifting.

Where billow meets billow,
there soft be thy pillow
for even the restless waves
grow gentle around you.

Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease
the sea has claimed you tenderly,
folding you into her slow‑swinging breath,
rocking you deeper than sleep.

The storm shall not wake thee,
nor shark overtake thee
for you are held in a covenant of tides,
a vow written in moonlit foam.

Asleep in the arms
of the slow‑swinging seas,
you become a small, bright myth
the ocean keeps close to her heart.

And I, watching from the shore of your dreaming,
feel the hush settle over me too
a reminder that even the wildest waters
can cradle what they love.

VOCES8, Eric Whitacre: The Seal Lullaby ~ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TL7HkwnzENo&list=RDTL7HkwnzENo&start_radio=1