Washed-Up Poem by Margaret O Driscoll
Washed-Up
A quiet cove far out of town
A rutted road on the way down
A long fishing net by the roadside
Waves splashing rocks, incoming tide
Lobster pots stacked by the slipway
Orange buoys bobbing in the bay
A silver glint on wave washed sand
I take a washed-up object in my hand
I walk uphill with a certain swagger
What a find - a pirate's dagger!
I was walking by your side, so well written was this poem thanks
PIRATE can enjoy this means... natural beauty, love and peace is still exist. (COVE VIEW, RUTTED ROAD, LOBSTER POTS) .. rare things.. thank you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/25/2026 5:42:41 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
Roberts Cove comes to mind, Beautifully written Margaret
Thanks Dan, the story is true, the origin of the dagger unknown! !