Shore Leave

Sand or tobacco

hair

each with a golden smile

some with glitter in their eyes

I wander and wonder

shan't my wits fly

with a broken wing?

astern, I fear

day still sings the same

the graceful airs

fall on dark

despite the great beauties on this land

yes, they dwell within white lights

and talk the talk

how

I know not

pity remains

even for the very little

said and done

and it delivers only unrest.