Riding her Waves [sonnet]
A woman’s like a wave you have to ride.
She ebbs and flows — receives you on her swell;
expects you to discern her crimson tide;
to know her stormly undulations well.
Acquaint yourself with lunar almanacs
before you surf in peril on her sea.
For on her waves there are no trails or tracks —
from hurricanes there is no guarantee!
But if you let her crests flow where they will,
and give her breakers space to turn to foam,
you will, in time, your destiny fulfil
and on her billows you will find your home.
Although it seems her waves throw you around,
surf-mastery’s the key, as I have found.
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© Alan Morrison, 2014
The Naked Troubadour 