Wading in shallows, <br />sung with little voice, <br />unnoticed in shifting sands; <br />tread quietly, <br />upon the wind of chance...... <br />our feathered flights of fancy, <br />dance. <br /> <br />Behold the octopus of dreams <br />eight armed inkiness <br />to write our future <br />with a soft quilted pen <br />washed away by the infinite ocean <br />of life. <br /> <br />A tortoise with homely shell <br />crosses our path <br />on its back engraved <br />the long history of <br />its strife. <br /> <br />We run across the shore <br />and dive into the surf, <br />to emerge riding crested waves <br />to distant lands with sparkling <br />shores. <br /> <br />Where wading in shallows <br />we sing with little voice, <br />unnoticed in shifting sands; <br />tread quietly, <br />upon the wind of chance....... <br />and with our feathered flights of fancy, <br />dance.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/moving-on-65/
