Poetry Archives

Christine stood rigid like a frozen stone,
Her hands wrung pale in effort at control.
Max moved aside and let her be alone,
For grief exacts each penny of its toll.
The dancing boat tossed on the glinting sea.
A sun-path swallowed it in flaming light,
Then, shrunk a cockleshell, it came again
Upon the other side.  Now on the lee
It took the “Horn of Fortune”.  Straining sight
Could see it hauled aboard, men pulling on the crane.