By the Chalk-White Cliffs
By the chalk-white cliffs of Dover
Where the English country ends
There we watch the ferries going over
Some in some out, the usual wend
In our youthful common blithe
There we sat on cliff-grass wasting
Wasting time and never hasting
On the meadows reaped by scythe
So meet us here one day my friend
When your meadows also end
With a scythe to reap your spoils
So you can board the ferry outbound to the peaceful, foreign soils
By the glossy calming ocean
That reflects your face, your past
Stuck in pondering past emotion
As the waves come in to cast
A new reflection of the sea
Where your long-lost memories squander
To a worldly town a yonder
In a book of your debris
So meet us here one day my friend
When your meadows also end
With a scythe to reap your spoils
So you can board the ferry outbound to the peaceful, foreign soils
Copyright © Herb Alyètte | Year Posted 2010
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