Sea Fevers
No ancient mariner I,
Hawker of public crosses
Snaring the passerby
With my necklace of albatrosses.
I blink not glittering eye
Between tufts of gray sea mosses
Nor in the high road ply
My trade of guilts and glosses.
But a dark and inward sky.
Tracks the flotsam of my losses.
No more beclamed to lie,
The Skeleton ship tosses.
-- Agnes Wathall
No comments:
Post a Comment