the docks
craneshang their
heads as
if weary
weeping
rain
as
wind
whirls
through
the docks
now empty
no more
spices
grain
timber
or fruits
of many
lands
just
silence
eery
empty
pregnant
with memories
of men's
laughter
tears
anger
resolution
the wind
whirls
a gull
calls
she
drowns
Poetry by Peter Humphreys

Read 804 times
Written on 2007-07-04 at 02:11




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