Cruise Poetry
It only seems natural I would write about it--The waves crashing against the steel beast.
I found a pen, a discarded sheet, naturally
And searched the deep blue for its words.
But they were buried--sunk too deep into yesterday's anthology.
Besides, it was humid and no place for a poet's fingers.
Maybe I will write about the little girl
And the waiter who makes her smile.
Or my empty apartment
Patiently awaiting my return.
The friends on their own adventures
I left behind.
Are those as grand as the view from my table in the lobby?
As captivating as the moonlit ocean?
I hope so, because only this came to my mind.
1 comment:
Fabulous.
Also, I believe you need to invite me to read your teaching blog.
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