The wail of ship’s horns
cleave the morning air
evoking ghosts of freckle-faced
boys bobbing on rafts while
their mamma’s float magnolia
blossoms in bowls
of cerulean blue.
Visions of another time,
yet not.
The wail of ship’s horns
cleave the morning air
evoking ghosts of freckle-faced
boys bobbing on rafts while
their mamma’s float magnolia
blossoms in bowls
of cerulean blue.
Visions of another time,
yet not.
such great choice of words – cleave the morning air…
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Thanks, darlin!
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Lovely lovely – oh I wish I knew your mornings – rich as they are.
Anna :o]
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Anna, come on down for a visit! Thanks for stopping by and reading. xo
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