Shackleton’s Grave
(A Wish)
There will be peace and an end to traveling,
the colour of ocean under a polar sky,
solid as mountains, to bear the brunt
of storms that can no longer trouble
the sleeper in the wind-raked earth.
Time will be glacial, patient as icebergs
where no rumours whisper, no duty calls,
the strong heartbeat of spring and its flowers:
the tides’ turn, the snow’s fall.
This poem ends Rough Spun to Close Weave which is still available on line. Further samples and signed copies from www.Liamguilar.com.
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