Widow

Poesy plus Polemics

 

the rowboat
bumps gently
in moorage
asleep in her
dreams of
summertime
voyages cross
silver ponds
along banks of
svelte streams
iron oarlocks
intoning the
stout chants
of hardwood
in swivel and
swim through
deep pools of
cool fisheries
halting above
rower’s secret
most spot for
new mornings
of lazy delight
where the low
rising sun skims
and glances off
sparkling surfaces

all of a unit
the wood and
the rower
the water and
all of their
summertimes
sprung from
the dreamstuff
of one grieving
widow boat
left to her
paint crumbled
reverie missing
her untethered
days pulled with
pride and an
effortless glide
through the life
of the two arms
and hands that so
lovingly built her

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