The Last Vessel

There is a brush of wind sweeping roughshod over the shore Festering foamy white caps on the crest of the waves Disembodied voices I think I've heard before Are rising from the mist of the liquid haze White-feathered angel wings spreading wide and low Swoop down below the angry crimson wide Welcoming home the trollers, row by weary row As the beacon skims the waters, and the coming of the tide The sun is clinging helplessly, on the edges of the earth As one last vessel, trudges in, looking worn and spent Lagging far behind, and longing home and hearth Yet with sense of work well done, after long day's sweat, It burrows in, at end of day, from all those travels, far The one last vessel, weary worn, cuts a furrow in the stars For Francine's Contest :"On The Ocean Waves"