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
Authenticated by le Enchanteur
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