Big grey cloud stretching
Across the western sky
Heading north
Like a huge mammoth of
The deep
I fancy it heading for
The St Lawrence then
To Terra Nova
Moving swiftly as to remind
That all things change as
They set sail
For better,
For dream,
For home
For new
The sextant sparks the sailor’s way,
And while it all,
Always, leads to
An end,
How much better it is to know that
The oft-unsteadied hand
Can reach and dare.
Nothing is guaranteed
Sometimes I rail and weep for
Days and days
And finally stop.
Relaxing, shrugging into
Calm, and waking into my
Moonless inner landscape,
The silver shimmers.
There it all makes sense.
No comments:
Post a Comment