Classic Poem

They said, “You have gathered driftwood all your years;
We cannot use you: we are moving fast
And doing things so different, so vast!”
This he remembered; now through hot blind tears
He saw the sun rise like a thousand spears;
The slow tide sliding in; a single mast
Black on the sky: and he stood up and passed
Beyond the breakwater and the huddled weirs.

And on the beach the driftwood had been blown
Heaving with the tide and wind. And there
He kneeled … a sail swept by … he was alone.
A gull flashed white across the broad blue air …
They said, “You have gathered driftwood all your years …”
He groped amid the driftwood blind with tears.