A smiling wrinkled sailor sits placidly on the porch, <br />on a splintered wooden rocker, facing towards the North. <br /> <br />To the East the sun will rise, each morning a new day. <br />To the West the sun will set, shining a final orange ray. <br /> <br />Each morning, each evening, he glides in his chair, <br />While a warm southern breeze, ruffles thick silver hair. <br /> <br />But the sailor is lost, in a world all his own, <br />For he lost precious eyesight, while far from his home. <br /> <br />“But that isn’t so bad”, he says with a grin that is cheerful. <br />For without eyes to cry I simply cannot be tearful. <br /> <br />So instead he hears the sunset, he can smell it in the air. <br />The calm of sacred silence, that echoes far and near. <br /> <br />He feels the sun’s soft rays stroke his skin of leather, <br />As he waits for his old mate, <br /> the sun, <br />in any kind of weather. <br /> <br />He feels the shivers of the dew. <br />It ushers out the old day, and calls in the new. <br /> <br />He feels the sun is setting, he nods a last goodbye. <br />For he doesn’t know if tomorrow morn, the sun, <br />for him, will rise. <br /> <br />He lives in inky-blackness, but still rejoices, not surprising. <br />For instead of only watching the sun, <br />He can feel it rising.<br /><br />>Starr Williams
