Arrival
The Sea is silent
calm and dark,
a glass roadway to the unknown.
What lies ahead
is hidden from view,
dense fog swirls and clings;
a misty mariner's veil.
Deftly, the bow slides and slices
with determined celerity,
homeward bound.
Looking.
Listening.
Where are we,
these neophyte sailors three?
A mournful moan
from the sailor's friend.
The distant clang of a bouy's bell.
Could it be
we are safely home at last,
and worry free?
To the right a clouded glow of red;
To the left, one of green.
Faintly up ahead then,
neat rows of golden lights;
Familiar, muffled, sounds of home;
We slide silently to rest,
safely in our water's nest.
©1995 Bill Effinger