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