The Tide Without The Storm

Beautiful, audacious eastern-rising son,
cool your callow sojourn in the west.
Your arrival heralds changing weather,
fraught with peril and intemperate at best. 

I am but a little boat and I have put to sea 
these many years upon your boyish swell. 
I have set my sails into your summer breeze,
been tossed and blown by unexpected gales. 

A tempest; rip tides salted with my tears,
and waves of perfect bliss break on the shore. 
You buoy me in your high-tide ecstasy; 
recede again and leave me here, unmoored. 

But come this time in cooler autumn climes,
come slowly, be the tide without the storm. 
Cradle me, that I might sail upon your eddies, 
even-keeled and true as all our ocean warms.