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Pacific

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Ere thrashes foaming waves on the turf
Of rocky coasts, black and weathered, with no mirth,
Whatsoever as a greeting, for that weary band
Of travelers of the eastern lands.
Their jubilance, uncontained, coaxes a yell from their awestruck lips.
No, not a treasure, a marble hall, or mammoth ships,
Could bring such awe
As did this sight—the Pacific.

This clan—a bedraggled one—hardly worth a second glance
Stood lofty on their battered canoes, which had so long been their manse.
Now glory shines from their haggard faces,
Throwing aside their burdens; quite soulful mazes.
Lust of the hungry explorer evaporates,
Like a morning mist exposed to the sun, and exonerates.
Since beheld, this watery body,
Brought forth wonder—the Pacific.

There steps forward, one man
Tall and swarthy, with a sober countenance viewing the span
His gray eyes full of haunting dreams incessantly,
Remembering the leader back abroad—those poignant words; Manifest Destiny.

Another moves forward, with haste, dashing down a word or two,
Glancing up with eyes of sapphire, to the ocean blue,
That he ponders, with a bright face, Is at last; destination.
These two men, with burning eyes view—the Pacific.





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