Two Mayflower Matrons-Poem 7
They are the last ones by the peaceful shore
under the gloomy twilight darkening tones;
one holds a seashell in her cupped hand,
a delight for two Mayflower matrons.
Her fingers brush off all grains of sand;
such a revelation astounds even more.
Perhaps in Plymouth they never saw
a similar one, being far from any beach;
the curiosity they display is very raw,
nothing ahead of them is out of reach.
Taking a stroll before sunset is utter joy
while their soul search for inner serenity,
but besides stilness there is another reason,
to admire the awesome works of creation.
They will take this gorgeous seashell home,
put it on a window sill next to an Amish stone
whiter than a grand cathedral's round dome;
no match for the ocean's waves rolling ashore.
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