In the morning I awoke at the flutter of thy boat-sails,
Lady of my Voyage, and I left the shore to follow the beckoning waves.
I asked thee, “does thy dream-harvest ripen in the island beyond the blue?”
The silence of thy answer fell on my question like the silence of sunlight on waves.
The day passed on through storm and through calm,
The perplexed winds changed their course, time after time, and the sea moaned.
I asked thee,
“ Does thy sleep-tower stand somewhere beyond the dying embers of the day’s funeral pyre?
No answer came from thee, only thine eyes smiled like the edge of a sunset cloud.
It is night. Thy figure grows dim in the dark.
Thy wind-blown hair flits on my cheek and thrills my sadness with its scent.
My hands grope to touch the hem of thy robe and I ask thee----
“Is there thy garden of death beyond the stars . Lady of my Voyage, where thy silence blossoms into songs?”
Thy smile shines in the heart of the hush like the star-mist of midnight.
I thank my friend Ted Falconar for sharing this with me.
Lady of my Voyage, and I left the shore to follow the beckoning waves.
I asked thee, “does thy dream-harvest ripen in the island beyond the blue?”
The silence of thy answer fell on my question like the silence of sunlight on waves.
The day passed on through storm and through calm,
The perplexed winds changed their course, time after time, and the sea moaned.
I asked thee,
“ Does thy sleep-tower stand somewhere beyond the dying embers of the day’s funeral pyre?
No answer came from thee, only thine eyes smiled like the edge of a sunset cloud.
It is night. Thy figure grows dim in the dark.
Thy wind-blown hair flits on my cheek and thrills my sadness with its scent.
My hands grope to touch the hem of thy robe and I ask thee----
“Is there thy garden of death beyond the stars . Lady of my Voyage, where thy silence blossoms into songs?”
Thy smile shines in the heart of the hush like the star-mist of midnight.
I thank my friend Ted Falconar for sharing this with me.
