POEM: Infinite Ships


The voyage, now, is at an end.
The anchors have been cast.
The fleet bobs silently offshore,
looking boundlessly vast.

For fog has settled on the bay
and ship shapes fade to gray.
They count themselves infinite ships
while bounded by that bay.

The sea deceives, that much is true;
the rest we’ve yet to know.
Some will swear that trawlers sit there
that were lost long ago.

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