muted reef
This is to the shores far away,
Which rustles the leaves every day.
Why is it only the crying leaf which gets to play?
And let alone the boy standing at the edge of the bay.
He shall remember his day.
When he played with his love in the autumn hay.
Eyes filled with tears, can’t look away.
Oh! You poor soul take one jump and the days go away.
So is this your purpose; you tardy shore?
Or is this the forceful burden you bore?
Whatever it may be. This shall be for another day.
This is to the shores far away…
covert folio