This Day Will Have Its Feast

Whe’ all is meditations above th’ foamy,

horizon tae horizon

A month o’ days since th’ sight o’ lan’ befo’ th’ mast,

an’ taken by th’ whispering wake,

beneath th’ stellar glimmerings,

o’ beneath th’ lunar orb,

an’ below th’ blist’ring rays o’ Sol’s eternal day,

th’ conundrums ne’er please,

An’ this, th’ day, will have its feast.

Home is th’ splintery planks

a’neath their weathered feet,

an their chosen place tae nest.

Th’ night win’s howl and chills their bones

an spares not one o’ rest.

They speak san sound.

They work th’ sheets.

They scrub th’ spotted deck.

They dare nah raise raise

their eyes unto th’ sky.

They speak, but are their voices heard?

Mark this well,

and remember to thy bones.

tis flesh, tis dust an’ never yourn.

Th’ soun’ yee dunnah wish tae hear:

“Thine soul will be required o’ yee.

This day, will have its feast.”

This day, will have its feast.

About jedwardnajera

I am an artist and a Poet. I live the life of a poet. I published several novels. Nena the Fairy and the Iron Rose, Dust of the Moon are among them, available through Amazon Books. I have spent over thirty five years in a classroom. I am now retired from that profession. My father kept a living record of his lifetime as he lived through the Twentieth Century. He was born in 1908 and almost lived long enough to see us enter the new millennium. He entrusted to me nearly 400 pages that he wrote through the years. Now I am continuing the tradition by posting my own stories and misadventures. I am trying to post a new entry or chapter each Friday. Check in on us at least once a week for the latest post.
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