Old Boat

Literary / Arts

Old Boat

Sheila FitzGerald McKenna

Volume 28  Issue 7, 8 & 9 | Posted: September 18, 2014

My days are done
And now I lie
Beached upon the shore,
My paint is blistered in the sun
And ebb tides rot my floor.
 
No more my anchor
Weighs at dawn
To catch a turning tide,
I chart my memories in the stars
And log their course with pride.
 
No master's hand
Controls my wheel
No cargo fills my hold,
But sailors sigh no sighs for me
It's peaceful growing old.

My days are done
And now I lie
Beached upon the shore,
My paint is blistered in the sun
And ebb tides rot my floor.
 
No more my anchor
Weighs at dawn
To catch a turning tide,
I chart my memories in the stars
And log their course with pride.
 
No master's hand
Controls my wheel
No cargo fills my hold,
But sailors sigh no sighs for me
It's peaceful growing old.

   

Sheila FitzGerald McKenna