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In Rough Seas

This poem, this strong prowed
ship of words, glides silent or
merely wind whistling
through every storm of moment.

It is not a chart maker, stamps
down no path through wilderness of
heart, leaves behind no buoys,
nor straight line to reason.

And yet,
when needful, our eyes may close to
the remembrance of gentle sway,
and the salt sweet scent
of calm.
Faith Addicott
Monday, November 1, 2010
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