Keep me, corner, tethered
to the cracked ‘n cobbled dock,
upon which winds my narrative
in mist-haze morning fog,
whilst a-whence these breeze-
waves river from – cliff spire –
sings out ‘n tells of hour bells
‘neath th’cloud-hid morning fire.
Under the patchwork canopy
that catches falling rain,
I feel I’ll find that off my mind
will send me on again…
But beyond this sculptured edge
I know not t’where I’d head.
The river spills out to the sea
and’s by the currents led…
Image credit – Torsten Reimer
william altoft 