October Poetry

The moon is bathing the lake with its light

Chilled and still and reflected bright.

Suspended so high

Sigh!

I should be sailing tonight.

 

My vessel she rests in her silent slip

At her helm I captain a mighty ship.

Sound is her hull

Scull?

Too short a trip.

 

Sails the breeze makes flutter and shake

Something within me likewise my muscles make.

Quiet and weak yet I still

Seek…

I should be on my vessel making a wake.

 

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