Who crafted such words from cottonwood <br />and embarked on some dreamt-up vessel? <br />Untied its moorings and weighed anchor, <br />cast off and sailed upon various notions? <br /> <br />I keep an ear open to those swinging the lamp, <br />for tidal tales of that cottonwood clipper <br />with green shimmering sails, bearing swiftly <br />toward far declinations-no reportage as yet, <br /> <br />only the froth and squall in yon swagger <br />and brag. Only my fancies hearkening to <br />memory's steerage, the faint cry of a cabin boy <br />who'd shimmied high to the crow's nest. <br /> <br />Below cumulous-puffed skies he braced <br />himself sturdy in the gray-masted sway, <br />in much the same harbor where I once mused, <br />nigh his size, on the spars of a cottonwood tree- <br /> <br />where o'er land and sea eyes sail beyond <br />a mystic horizon where dark fails to follow.<br /><br />Phillip Michael Sawatzky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cottonwood-clipper/
