Coming Home

Oh, daughter of green crest and rising mist,

Let there be one with whom I share this kiss.

For, with the marking of time at season’s end,

There is little fight left in my soul to defend.

On shore wedged between river and sea,

I spy the smooth outline there waiting for me.

Oil lanterns blush echoes off waves,

As my rising chest heaves like the ship’s sodden staves.

Look there as we round the spithead and quay,

My eyes lock to the one who is there but for me.

Dimmed lights of Warfleet, Southtown, and above,

Cast a glow of devotion on the one that I love.