Stranger at the Shore
When the winter winds wailed as he rowed to shore,
A penny, he said, no penny more.
The man stares still, as the scars now show,
From the moonlight had shone over, the wooden row boat.
Hands were loosened, empty pockets, please grasp,
A wrist that would help, with another hand to clasp.
The bodies on the decking, the water rippled so,
The stranger in the moonlight, bowed his head low.
His back was arched in agony, he walked along beside,
The man who helped him walk to ground with droplets in his eyes.
The men got to solid land, eyes viewed the path they now led,
Glimmer of hope, a heart of gratitude and then the final words he said,
“You are a friend. You are a saint, to help me onto shore.
This boat is rare, it needs your care. I hope we meet once more”.
The man collapsed into his arms; tears of loss were shed.
The grave was placed, where he was found, just by the river bed.
When the winter winds wailed as he rowed to shore,
The man who had helped placed down his ore,
The spirit of the stranger flowed gently with the stream,
The head laid back, as he fell into a dream.
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