Friday, 20 September 2019

The Wild Water's Edge

I sit staring seaward at the brisk water's edge
With sand blowing south-east from the land,
Stinging, lounging quietly, and gently dredge
Glimpses of sparkling blue in another grand

Portion of my life when the world was younger
And so much glorious beauty surrounded me
In those halcyon days when there was hunger
To dive deep into the blue, cooling pool or sea.

Now I sit still at the wild water's edge and sigh
To strains of Mahler's Fifth, as the wind whips
My stationary, immobile frame while, still, I lie
As slowly the sun sets on a life well lived. Lips

Move, as I ask whilst deck-chair postured there:
"Why does the little white bird on the shore stare?"

No gentle going into the approaching dip of the sun
With three days to the Equinox. No. I am not done!

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