Cool sails quiet on ocean air
Fog grips the coves and inlets where
The sun is veiled in Maine’s embrace
Those ‘from away’ softly despair.
They’ve spent a year in the rat race
Dreaming of this magical place
Of lobster boats and gulls on wing
And mornings filled with salt air’s grace
And from above, a sounding ring
Children gently rouse and sing
Of whales and snails and sand and sun
Adults below prepare the sting
Of fog and rain that have undone
Their daily plans; in children run
They frown and stomp once they are told
There’s nothing fun, say all but one
Who wanders toward the windows glow
And scans the water, to and fro
And shrieks to all with eyes ablaze
Treasure awaits them far below.
And on this greyest of Maine days
Without the warmth of Sun’s soft rays
Babes cloaked and armed with nets and cups
Chase sparkles in the lifting haze.
Even on the greyest and most disappointing days, there are sparkles.
Thanks for readin’.
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*Not Mucked With