Who is that Boy?

by
 
 
I am the fishing boats
When the long night comes 
Empty of their catch
Anchored and tied 
Listless without heading 
Quiet but for a slow, tired rubbing 
 
I am the wide canal
Early at morn 
Shrouded in her mists 
Fiercely raging or deathly still
Imprisoned in stone
Patrolled by knotty pines and oaks
 
I am the northeast wind
Singing in icy gales 
Headstrong and blind
A siren's cry to a sailor long off the ocean
The one a warm heart
Wishes only to feel no more 

55th Weekly Poetry Contest
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