Marsh grasses marching.
When February winds blow in,
Gulls face seaward.
Marsh grasses marching.
When February winds blow in,
Gulls face seaward.
Oh, what should we seek,
happiness or contentment?
A different world…
In midwatch hours,
Bows slicing dark rolling sea,
luminescent wake.
All is not right today,
With a world where children pass away,
While we to mourn must stay.
The Muse is everywhere.
But, in the time of dryness,
everywhere but here!
Stone wall reflections,
in morbing’s predawn darkness,
cat eyes glowing.