We go through each day quietly

And silent in the night

And dream of the ship moored at sea

That may never take to ‘flight’


We go through life anonymous

And having visited so few

And pity those who enter

The gates that many knew


To be of little aid to all

Who stood on sand by sea

Yet, rarely, in this unkempt world

They’d ask so much of me


I see it in the ocean

And on the ocean floor

But not in this life, or the next

Would I ask for any more.

Published by Owen Tilley