Saturday, December 17, 2016

"Grand"

It stands outright, in regal sense, with loyalist proportions
It sings a note of recompense that's lost in the distortions
A sparkle there, is littered here, and, with it, goes the sky
Bright moon sends shadows round the scarp evoking winsome cry
To seize upon the windlass sheet and pull with all your might
No crush will craze the troubled heart from tears of sudden sight
Swing out upon that windlass' rope and sweep onto the fore
Reach far above the mast to sky, beyond the ocean's roar
You'll sway into the lunar light of pinnacle's repine
For bursting forth from shadow's depth will come the grand design

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© 2012 whickwithy

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