The Weathered Glass
The Weather'd Glass
The weathered glass in harbor deep
reflects your eyes long gone from me
and seals your watery grave.
Sea shells sing you now to sleep,
the weeds confess your memory
within the bird-thronged cove.
On wind-soughed days your voice I hear,
its roughened cadence like a moan
which mocks me with its edge
of unresolved lament and fear;
a shriek, a wail and then its gone
to bottom in the sludge.
My soul bemoans your tragedy,
a life extinguished by your hand,
condemned to Neptune's lair;
consigned to quiver restlessly,
ne'er again we'll tread the strand,
a misbegotten pair.
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