It provides me with an opportunity to air this short poem.
SPRING
Green mariners, young leaves soft as skin,
are gathering before a tall tree’s mast.
A bright, fresh crew,
they have a season’s time
to learn the ropes.
Green mariners, young leaves soft as skin,
are gathering before a tall tree’s mast.
A bright, fresh crew,
they have a season’s time
to learn the ropes.
Come September,
we will witness their return to port,
brown-parchment-skinned,
rum-soaked,
no wiser than before.
No comments:
Post a Comment