still they drift across
sun moon in search of
kindly faces
flying south flying north
what is it
the gulls know
looking out
seems like
looking in
a gathering of terns
they must have heard
good news
this rare shell
too beautiful
to keep
old boots old hat
anchor stowed up forehead
I’m ready
Farewell to Middle-earth at last.
I see the Star above my mast!
Maybe so. Certainly I think Slocum would approve….!
Lovely. . .