The ships in the bay are docked at noon, they say,
Hibernating for a winter that will never come
They sit in their slips
Like girls on holiday
Gathering the sun’s rays, close and guarded
Dreaming of better days
In seas of golden green
Like leaves of grass
And long lost loves forsworn
Until late afternoon
When the daydreams seem longer
And no one will contradict them
They ease out of their slips
Anchors drawn on board and out of sight
Like the sailors below, bright eyed from long sleep
They sail out of the harbor with the drifting sun as compass
Leaving home
Churning as fast as their little oars will take them
They fade from sight
Drinking in the horizon
Drifting to a single pinpoint
Then winking out of existence
Amid the audience’s amazement
Never to return.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 