Afterthought 262—Skerwink Trail

Posted in curtal sonnet by maggie on 2015/06/28

Trinity's waters embrace the rocks, whip
salt and sage into crowberry and Tuckamore
to perfume our reverent steps into her wild.

Without Dean I'd not've made it.  My hip
would've kept me from what we're here for —
to make it where the Music Box stands piled.

Otters!—yes, we saw them, like was said
we might.  And dolphins close to the shore!
No poetry could've been more perfectly styled.

Next year, you.  Join us at Sherwink's Head,
                      you and the child.


Sincere comment by readers who accept responsibility for their words will earn my appreciation and response.

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