A Season Ended

The sunbathers and their umbrellas, water skiers
And their power boat packs are gone, summer is over.
Moorings are empty, cottage windows, boarded up.
We venture alone into the waving marsh sea.
Beating out, our cat boat climbs a wind ladder
Into the gold-grassed sea-covered marsh land
Rounding the islands of dark pine and crimson vines
Seeking passage through the white Heron’s grasses.
We all fly here, over the waters, white wings and sail,
And fold into this melancholy season beyond summer,
Before the storms to come whip the waters black..
We feel the world here as it has always been
Before mechanical man’s use changed it.

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