Dogs and their masters
Changlings and their grown-ups
Rays and their intentions
All converge along St. Kilda’s
Waves and their stories
Weeds and their sways
Foams and their yester-years
All along St. Kilda’s
The horizon and its constancy
The scent of the breeze and its orgins
The laughter of joy and sadness
I take it all in, all on St. Kilda’s
This is the time to weep
This is the time to laugh
This is the time to live
This is an organic time
I am better off without words
Without politics, without agendas
I am better off with just my senses
This is me, the organic me
Hold on to the organic you.
(Boats without their oars are still boats)
3 comments:
how come no new poetry one?
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