The lighthouse keeper
Moonbeams flash off white horses,
The keeper lays face down, eyes open
Cold tea by his bed,
Flies cover his bacon sandwich,
A fowl stench hangs in still air,
The ship nears jagged white cliffs,
381 dead or missing,
Gulls skid on her upturned hull,
Crashing waves await the morning sun.
Poetry by JohnJohn
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Written on 2015-04-25 at 16:22
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