The Ferryman's Bane
A ferryman weeps at the passing of time,
No more shall the hustle of feet fill his dock.
His worth is now waning in industry's prime.
His bane, a behemoth of metal and rock.
Walking on water, the wayfarers mock,
His emptying vessel, alone on the bank.
Till memories spun with the turn of the clock,
And the ferryman's boat, to nothingness sank.
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Time march's on
and waits for no man. Sad but true write here TRYeager. Thanks for sharing
ron
"It ain't what they call you, it's what you answer to." W.C. Fields
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Hmm
I have to say the imagery here is very interesting--I like the juxtaposition of myth and industrial society. Rhyme and meter are great, of course, as I expect from you. :)
"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit."--Aristotle