Thursday, May 2, 2019

Curtains

My boat has four beige sails; the sun they block
From bursting in and feeling much at home.
They won’t invite even the sharp-eyed hawk
To look in, less yet men whose feet do roam.
My boat has four beige sails, and on a sea
Of battered concrete it will freely soar,
Though standing still it is and shall still be
Until that blazes rain or men do war.
My boat has four beige sails, and when unfurled
They blow inwardly, warbling songs so subtle
That set my mind to sailing all the world,
Unminding busy men that outside scuttle.
   My boat has four beige sails, but me for crew,
   And rooted so, it sails just when I do.

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