The fog of the early morn

I look for him,

In the fog of the early morn.

I know he won’t be there,

But still I wait, and hope

For a glisten of his boat

At the edge of the horizon,

For the sound of his voice

To come rolling off the waves.

He’ll smile when he sees me,

He’ll sit me on his knee,

He may even have a gift

That I will cherish every day.

There’ll be many stories to be told,

And I’ll just sit and listen

Just happy that he’s there,

But I know that will not happen.

One day he will come to me,

And when that day comes

I’ll be here waiting

In the fog of the early morn.

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aletta mes

Primary Author and Keeper of the Pages Aletta Mes, born in Amsterdam, 1954, now living in Vancouver, BC Canada I'm an opinionated old crone, but I've bloody well earned it. I still believe in the individual's opinions and energies having the possibility to change the world. Ripples from casting a stone in the water of time. Indifference is a sin, so I cannot in good conscience keep my mouth shut. Hopefully some will find it enjoyable, entertaining, or even enlightening, and I will try to hold to my personal standards of excellence and aesthetics. I welcome feedback, please use the comments section or any of the blog rating systems available on this page, it helps me to know what the reader feels and thinks about the work. For more about me check my website at www.aletta.org aletta

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