There is a Place

There is a place of ever-changing light
A mountain sloping to the shore.
Stately firs and hemlocks stand in ranks,
Gazing at islands, rocks, ans sea.

A distant, ancient, cone of lava,
Clad in snow, beguiles the eye.
Small waves across the bay,
Tides sliding without noise,
Now steel grey, washed with blue,
Bands of silver streaked with darkest reds.

Catspaws on the water, riffling gently,
Distant islands, green and brown
Look down on slowly passing ships
As eagles circle and soar,
Calling so sweetly-shrill
Over  sorrowful seagull cries.