Lights of Boston trail away,

wisps on winds born of steely birds

which skim the oceans with shadows stray

and bring with them one thousand words.

Soft chime the bells of sojourn's song,

Through leaves aflame in glorious hue,

Far be it from me to to wonder long

And wander on cosmic cue.

The curtain call of Autumn's end

In her one last elegant bow,'

Gestures on to something down the bend

That answers neither why nor how

But instead poses queries crisply fresh

to be echoed in green hills

Jagged cliffs agape in ocean mesh

Of unbidden celestial wills.

So sets the sun on one far coast

as we sail toward old shore,

On a ship that flies eclectic host,

Bound for beloved Moher.