The Dock

Sometimes it seemed

She was on the deck waving

Adios, goodbye, I love you,

Auld Lang Syne,

All those sort of thoughts

As time drifted into silence,

And then would come

A soft, short hello

That drew you back

To the dock,

Kept you standing

In the rain,

Peering into the fog,

Listening in the silence.

Stephen Nesbitt ©

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