Safe from all raging storms... I lay at anchor here in the lap of the towering beautiful grey green lady She sits silent.. weeping her frozen tears.. they run unheeded down the ruin of her face to form a necklace of crystallized pearls between her ancient sagging breasts
She weeps for the forever lost ...those sailors who have slid down to the watery depths there with in her gaze...there... where she keeps a vigil near the spot they lie below.. food for the fish.. old white bones turning into sand
Nearby are the narrows the path to home and safety. Home to the arms of those foolish women who loved them and now weep copious tears for them as they tend the goats and and glean a little sustenance atop the rocky craig at the waters edge
While over all speaks the clarion call of the old harbor horn. While the golden ray of the lighthouse on the point cuts big slices in the mist that never seems to disapate.. in this the land of the midnight Sun where mother nature reigns supreme and time is frozen
