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"
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