So the pictures fade but the young sailor
is left to wonder about the boat,
To relate still waters of a fact,
still in memory of vulture-lined shores.
This young sailor is defenseless,
being christened at the rotten bow
Of no more wooden boat
and vacation pictures faded
to that color of fate
or was it destiny?
The weight of a magnet with a magnet,
the anchor drawing more ore, more woe.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely title. The emotional control here only serves to heighten the intense feelings that produced this fine word painting. Thank you for sharing. Warm regards, Sandra