Isles of its soul above the land
hanging on where life is.
Time has fought the tide,
Won in intricate wars, but skirmishes
writing, rewriting colorful limits,
Burying tenebrous songs of old.
Yet, the waters labor on, now clothed
in green, crimson, and gold-
In the fall foliage breaking,
spears of waving green,
Unending in a floating world.
Posts
