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The Jetty's Edge ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales
1970

The sun had slowly started sinking
In the yellow'd sky;
Half-formed liquid jewels gleam,
They glister in mine eye.
I sat upon the jetty's edge,
My thoughts and I, alone,
Just gazing at the rushing tide
Whose face is blank as stone.
Predatory fish glide by,
Their bodies of mottled grain
Viewed for one brief instant,
Then they are not seen again.

Storm clouds gather on the breeze
Yet I don't see them form,
Lashing tongues of rain pour down
Yet I don't heed the storm;
I'm far beyond such earthly things,
Feel neither cold nor warm.

The water swirled beneath me now
So dark and misty bleak;
It ebbed and flowed in timeless style
As though it tried to speak
And aid me in my thoughtfulness,
My thoughtfulness of mind;
Respecting those who think with hearts,
Although their heads are blind.
The cool wind tugged my clothing
As I walked along the beach,
Thoughts divined in solitude,
Immune from mortal reach.
The water licks my toes as I
Go bare-foot in the sand
To ponder on elusive things,
So far, yet close at hand.

I hear the ocean's rumble
From its bowels in the deep,
Which like a woman's hand
Upon my brow, sends me to sleep.
The water washes over
My still body on the shore -
Then I am nowhere, any more.



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