
Forlorn boats sit upon the sand
the ebbing tide has left them stranded
their drunken masts reach for the sky
as old dead trees stand frozen lifeless
mooring buoys not joyful bobbing but
relaxing knowing a job well done
still holding fast the boatmen trust
though barnacle and weed encrusted
the hulls that lean haphazard crazy
will soon be roused from lazy slumber
when the moon from up on high
once again sends in the flooding tide

There speaks a sailor. I love that of the buoys, knowing a job well done!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very nice
LikeLike
Short and sweet, thanks
LikeLike
the hulls that lean haphazard crazy
will soon be roused from lazy slumber
This little rhymey bit rolled off the tongue so delightfully! Bravo. I chose the same photo.
LikeLiked by 1 person