Robert H. Thayer

Oxford, Massachusetts

Driftwood

Your roots torn free from the soil of your birth
No longer a prisoner of mother earth.
Adrift on a sea of perpetual motion
to be battered on the rocks, at the whims of the ocean
Years later washed up on this barren shore
trapped once again, as you were before.
Stripped of your flesh, your bones bleached white
Held captive in the sand that holds you tight
Awaiting a tempest to set you free
to continue you journey on the perilous sea.
You're so like calypso on her never ending quest
On a voyage of discovery that Poseidon has blessed.
Bon Voyage!, "Driftwood".
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