Classic Poem

Inland, he still could hear the surge of the sea,
And smell the salt when the wind blew that way;
Gull shadows drifted on his drying hay,
And some nights he would lie half dreamily
Hearing the rain-drenched rustle of a tree,
Mistaking it for the long swish of spray;
He loved the fog when it came thick and gray
And touched his fields with its immensity.

At least his wife need no more lie awake
Now when she heard a sudden wind arise,
If he had died already for her sake
It was a fact not obvious to her eyes,
Contented she might sew and sweep and bake
And never guess the ghostly compromise.