Dors Bien, Mon Ami Poem by Tom Billsborough

I find death wanting. It has no allure
On such frail stems the harebells grow
Blue eyes that scan the blue
From perilous ledges on their
cliff-side perch
True pioneers which search
The wide horizon, blue on blue,
For dreams of new beginnings.
I find death wanting. It has no allure
I shall grow again upon
The shallow soil of my despair.
The sea may toil for ever
But has no need for shadows.
Goodbye, my friend.
Sleep well until the morrow.