Thursday 2 June 2011

The traveler

On the sun deck I cannot see
At those who wave me I weep
Along the shores waiting and wishing
My honey comb to fall, sweet in a pack.
Their words the waves swallow
Their sight the tides hide
Till their efforts and strength subside.
Yet will I soar with the oars
My honey comb in hand across the seas
The rays to trace till my sun sleeps

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