In Newfoundland <br /> <br /> The sea surrounds and dominates <br /> all those who live upon the coast <br /> in all the harbours, and the coves, <br /> in all the bights, and all the bays<br /> and on the headlands, and the capes<br /> <br /> Its presence ever in our minds, <br /> it seeps into our very souls<br /> Its sights, its sounds, its smell, its form<br /> Within our consciousness is there<br /> For of the ocean at our door<br /> we are so very much aware<br /> <br /> Our lives sometimes seem like they flow<br /> according to the rhythms of <br /> the great salt water at our door<br /> For that is what we called it then<br /> when we were boys and played around<br /> the beaches, stages, punts and flakes<br /> <br /> When came the time of March month when<br /> the Arctic Pack came to the land<br /> Fast driven by the north-east wind<br /> it rafted tightly to the shore<br /> And showed us then another face<br /> to contemplate, and to endure<br /> <br /> Embedded in our consciousness<br /> embedded deeply in our souls<br /> Through generations living here<br /> as centuries and seasons rolled<br /> It is this ocean at our door<br /> with wind, with tides, with ice, and spray<br /> That calls us back here to our place<br /> whene'er, where'er we go away<br /> <br /> Wayne Taylor, Bonavista<br />   Submitted By: wayne taylor