Stowaway

Blue white clouds washed with sunshine
Along the horizon float in line
Fair ships bound for a far-off port
Drawing me dreaming in their court…

But lapping, slapping at my feet
Life’s waters keep their timely beat,
Recall me to each moment here
Though I am wishing I were there

And softly with their music ply
My drifting mind til with a sigh
Once again I’m drawn to move
Among the spirits of this rood.

-Ethel L. Ingalls

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