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.