Gone,
Into the pale
Sun,
The barque,
Gliding on the blue,
The oarsman
Leaning on his willow
Pole, the fish, the ancient, glimmering
Fish of the Nile, all gone,
And none
Will awaken
Here again.
Gone
To where the Great Ones sail
Over the misted hills of gladness,
Climbing for awhile on the sparkling
Wind, after the rain,
In the stillness,
The Great Ones,
Ask not who they are,
Nor from where they arise,
For they have always been,
Only follow the dawn-
Bright
Trail
Of their wings across the skies.
Only follow,
Ever remembering though
To journey
First through
The far,
Dark
Country
Of the masked ones, beginning
At the call of the mystical rail
On the shores of the silver-lapping night.
Written in 2006
Photo: Stevepleydell / Dreamstime.com