London Poem: Day 319

2 July

The old ship sleeps at
The bottom of a cranky sea,
Lurching and crawling with the
Push and pull of a twisting world.
The ship sings a mournful song,
As its lonely heart crumbles at
The hands of a passing tide,
With little teeth to chomp away
At the good parts left behind.
Why worry?
The ship is dead and the
Sea just keeps on anyway.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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