Fishing

The red haired girl was different.

She was a forest dweller In a land encircled by water;

‘Different,’ might be a kind word.

Perhaps her genes had been wired wrong?

When the men had gone to sea

Women would stand by land’s end and pray;

That their men would return safe

From the turbulent waters.

She would be found In the apple orchard;

Testing the russet hue and

Wild clover of the honey comb.

The village was scandalized the day

She joined an ocean bound vessel.

None had noticed the withering branches;

The dark haired man

Who piped forgotten tunes and kissed passionately.

He loved the open sea.

One day when the sky was blue With a trail of dreams in its wake;

He disappeared.

Silent in her determination

To find the man who could offer the world ;

She left the shore.

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Posted on October 18, 2014, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Interestlinly, one of my short stories ends with almost the same line: “She left the beach.” 🙂

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