As a Sail on the Horizon

The boy looked out to sea: 
past scrub spruce on rocky tors, 
his gaze skipped over gravel shingle 
whispering an ageless sough to the sea. 
There! Across the reach, beyond the island! 
The tiny sail touching the horizon 
would stay with the boy for hours,
traversing his lilliputian world.


Later, an economic refugee 
"going down the road," 
the boy was reminded of the sail 
as he watched through the night 
on the "Maritime Express." 
Small pools of light would appear 
in the Stygian darkness of a New Brunswick night: 
reminders of comfort and home.


On the horizon of my life I have seen many sails. 
Some have docked, sojourned, 
to become part of my life for a while. 
Others passed, unknown, into the vortex of Time. 
I only wish, at this late date, 
that I had tried harder, made more effort, 
to make the journeys of others 
as joyous as my own.