Driftwood At Sunset - Poem by Jack Growden
Far abreast of distant moored-up boats
The quiescent air engulfs each lung.
You taste briny salt upon your tongue;
As without haste, nonplussed driftwood floats,
While the owl's elegy is grimly sung
And waves give resonance to her notes.
Such monotony is the sunset norm
With a warning whispered by the breeze-
The driftwood was once one of those trees
Standing, whose sap ran vivid and warm.
He, whose trunk stood against the gales with ease,
Is now reduced to decrepit form.
Hear him cry out advice you should heed
Well before you too suffer his fate.
Trust him, for your vigour will abate
As age and death will never concede.
Hence achieve your wishes and do not wait
Until you are frail and rusty-kneed.
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