Boating By Robert Wylie

Boating By Robert Wylie The same thin, parsimonious wind Which, now, and then blows against me, Blew against the small, wet-sailed boat Bobbing on the choppy water. The gloves I wore, Most of the fingers Bitten-away in nervous times, Were soaked by the beetle-infested pond. My father smiled from across the water, Coaxing me to […]