Port

 The docks lay quiet,

the ships all gone to rest.

The air was cool,

the smoke was thick.

The merry laughter 

from the pub was all that

sounded off the dirty road.

 

Up the hill, the old men smoke,

and spoke of days,

of girls, of beer, of hope.

And the wind kept winding, off the sea,

the captain stood listening.

 

A man of just, twenty summers past,

he took his compass and stepped a'mass.

At the fo'c'sle he stopped,

turned about, and gave a laugh.

 

They could've sworn,

they'd seen a god,

he sailed off towards,

fate and luck.

Reviews

[lauren emily]

This is fantastic! I love the flow and imagery...You did a really great job with this :)

~Lauren