The Wake

The white ship slides serene, wind-blown,

heedless of its human burthen

while laying wakes but swiftly flown.

Mile-on-mile the dance of heathen

sunbursts play on flashing waters

pretty as maids, or bonds that weaken

as the leaving fades. The snows that fought us

in winters past, tall drifts in proud array,

melt clear in spring before our youngest daugh...

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Time

Time lies like a guardian angel,

lost in a past

that shall leave a trace,

safe within the pleats

of this life's fabric.

Look and remember

a white poppy's petal

that brushes gentle as night

across our peaceful faces

with silken care.

Chris Hubbard

2018

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