Читать книгу No One Can Stem the Tide - Jane Tyson Clement - Страница 17

12

WINTER COAT

Gulls on the lonely beach

under the brooding sky;

over the darkened marsh

one gray gull’s cry.

Wrack strewn upon the strand,

shards from the summer sea;

ripples from rising tide

creeping to me.

Winter is on the air,

sand drifted like the snow;

all the cold sky above,

sorrow below.

Boarded and silent wait

window and shuttered door.

Oh, will the summer joy

waken no more?

Summer of all mankind,

harvest from field and sea –

shattered and blown away –

no more to be?

Oh, but the promise lies

safe in His waiting hand;

sunrise again shall light

shimmering sand!