Boaters and School Ties
Form: Octaves
I meet the youth of old school ways
and weep an aging tear.
The city lights and rushing days
in white and amber gear,
The whitewash walls meet Itchen shore
as cargo waits its ship,
in dreams of teens for love and more
my journal's ink lets slip.
The time has gone to denim skies
to see a wizened crone
as docks, silenced in grief's demise
the planes above now drone.
Where is the boater dressed in blue
that trailed common ground?
I bid farewell to things I knew
No tears it’s time I’m found
©JGFarmer2008
Jezzie G 