March 14, 2018 1:37 pm
Perhaps it isn’t wise to love a sailor.
Good things sweep away in summer storms
but the tides are unpredictable
and times have changing patterns
when the breezes shift.
I left my compass in the cupboard
wrapped in faded charts
and i couldn’t see the stars.
I should have thought before I lifted anchor.
I should have thought before we left the land.
I can only tell you that I’m sorry
that I had to loose your hand.
Posted by A. Gouedard
Categories: Poetry
Tags: breezes, compass, patterns, stars, tides, unpredictable
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