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Harbor
 
The oar blade casts eddied swirls
and I watch them spin away,
paused as I row past the buoy
caught in a moment's distrait.
All my grand plans, lost like spume
and the crests of a running tide.
Not willing now to pretend,
not prisoner now to pride,
I take up the oars again
and row to the other side.

blade...buoy...caught...grand...willing

By tony parsons

© 2016 tony parsons (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - 5 in 10 With Cherry (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - 5 in 10 With Cherry (challenge has been closed)


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