keskiviikko 25. syyskuuta 2024

A SORT OF CHINESE PASTICHE

The great river flowing to the sea he steps
into a boat, raises anchor and sets sail, 
yet the poet never follows long the flowing
stream, drops anchor before the waters
reach the far-arriving waves which
speak of the blue sparkling depths.
He's there, on the riverside, watching
the boats go he will never board again,
on some pier drinking, gazing at
the Moon setting behind the mountains,
as the years roll towards the ocean's rest.

25.09.2024


#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse Verse Poetry Poems Poem

Ei kommentteja:

Lähetä kommentti