The Ferryman's Bane
A ferryman weeps at the passing of time,
No more shall the hustle of feet fill his dock.
His worth is now waning in industry's prime,
His bane, a behemoth of metal and rock.
Walking on water the wayfarers mock,
His emptying vessel, alone on the bank.
Till memories spun with the turn of the clock,
And the ferryman's boat, to nothingness sank.
Copyright © Timothy Yeager | Year Posted 2010
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