Carpe diem

Look! An inviting shore, a gentle beach,

With fields of long gold corn that reach

The twin hills and the secret wood,

And the whole isle is beautiful and good.

But the rocks are sharp and dangerous and proud,

And shipwrecked sailors curse and cry aloud,

As wiser they go limping sad away

To an easier port and a friendlier bay.

Is there no harbour small and sure,

A safe place for one ship to moor?

Unless she shows the welcome hand,

The lighthouse beam, the place to land,

Unless she gives a shelter fair

For a single ship to anchor there,

The bright green grass will turn to grey

And golden harvests waste away,

And trophies of past wrecks that sigh

Will float in circles round the bay,

As new young sailors smile and sail on by.

Poem every Monday