modern poetry

the ships are lying in the bay
see, they return
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
under a spreading chestnut tree
this ancient silver bowl of mine
a few more windy days
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
with joy and wonder
when night drifts along the streets of the city
listen to the sounding sea
afraid no more, i say
and so it goes
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon