The silver clouds fled high, above the fair;
analogy of rainfall was and bliss,
the boats were swaying their unearthly prayer
like coffins cradled they above abyss.
Exploding foam his smile became and oath
with blooms of red the fates regaled Spring's knell
the main mast ropes and sails became his clothe,
communion hush he drunk, from Faith's dark well.
And in that stillness he regained her grace,
conceived soul's amvon to sustain her glance,
invited by her verse and rains' embrace,
a Stygian sermon was her offered chance.
That night the boats returned his childhood dream
to coves of their liturgical redeem.
© 06.10.2013 G. Venetopoulos