Must We ?

Must we all be liars, shivering, afraid

In the beds we made?

The pasts we trade?

The present a pleasant, coffee-hit parade;

While constantly we fail to make the grade;

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Done

“Home,” sighed the captain;
One quiet word, on
The edge of the outbreath:
“Home,” a wish-whisper prayer.
And, fatigued, we cut
Ourselves free of the
Toil, toil nets,
The hook, hook ropes;
Turned our backs on
Long-wave whale roads,
Aurora sewn skies;
Opposed the route the
Miserable creature
(Monster-to-some) took.
We are done – again –
With the north.
“Home,” the captain sighed.

trawler

Photo source: http://www.mikes-place.connectfree.co.uk

8/2/2013