A Sestina

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The day begins with the rising sun.
The wind whistles through dry leaves.
The breeze travels to the harbor
And rustles the canvas of ship’s sails.
The cling and clang of machinery
Plays on the ears of a small boy.

Children play along the sea; the boy
Stares only up at the dazzling sun.
The clink and clang of machinery
And the rustling of dry leaves
Twists on the breeze. The sails
Of the ships are raised; they flee the harbor.

The boy watches the ships abandon the harbor
And he walks the length of the shore; only a boy
In nature, curious to why the sails
Strike a shadow from the blazing sun
And sail on the breeze that rustles the leaves
And seaman clink and clang machinery.

The clink and clang of machinery
Leads the boy away from the harbor.
His hair whips in the breeze that rustles leaves;
He is not distracted, the boy,
And still stares at the blazing sun
Though in his mind are distant sails.

Months pass, and on the horizon sails
Reach up. Dots formed by old machinery.
The blazing of a newer sun
Brings back the boy to the harbor
And now he is more man than boy,
And walks past the whispering leaves.

The salty breeze rustles the leaves
And the boy’s hair still flies; the sails
Intrigue him, now more man than boy
Fascinated by the clink and clang of machinery.
He walks to the edge of the brackish harbor
And stares into the fading sun.

The man-turned-boy now works the machinery
And the sails come and go from the harbor.
The breeze reminds him of his dreams as it smolders with the sun.





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