Drift westward on receding tide
My sail furled no longer strives to reach the shore
No boundaries edge the distant sea
No soft spoken passenger asks a plan or place
Alone with my boat into the setting sun
my wake collects my shadow into night
Drift westward on receding tide
My sail furled no longer strives to reach the shore
No boundaries edge the distant sea
No soft spoken passenger asks a plan or place
Alone with my boat into the setting sun
my wake collects my shadow into night
Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized
This is really beautiful, Fran.
By: Jodhiay on December 27, 2007
at 11:21 pm
Beautiful again, silent and still, yet so powerful.
By: imogen88 on December 28, 2007
at 3:39 am