They tilt like stoics, arms outstretched,
Watching waves like pens in ink.
Each sigh of breeze—a sentence—etched
In bark and salt and time’s distinct.
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe
They tilt like stoics, arms outstretched,
Watching waves like pens in ink.
Each sigh of breeze—a sentence—etched
In bark and salt and time’s distinct.
From A Poem A Day: All Continental Europe
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