Elizabeth Bishop (1937)
Summer is over upon the sea.
The pleasure yacht, the social being,
That danced on the endless polished floor,
Stepped and side-stepped like Fred Astaire,
Is gone, is gone, docked somewhere ashore.
The friends have left, the sea is bare
That was strewn with floating, fresh green weeds.
Only the rusty-sided freighter
Goes past the moon's marketless craters
And the stars are the only ships of pleasure.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
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from The Poetry Anthology (1912-2002)
Joseph Parisi and Stephen Young
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