The Auster Blows
Above the pilot cutter I hoe, to strike amain
of her I think - sea gulls aloft
our ship is land-locked enters the port again
th' Auster blows ever soft.
my lady in memory, a perty thing to chase
I board her up, on soul's edge
her kind smile cuns the pilot, aptly to trace
in sea-waters known to allege.
Christmas 's close, bells, boat keeps 'er luff,
she goes steady on same point
I recall a tear and a scarf, and then a laugh,
winter 't was, with the anoint.
Ship sails steady, bears up, and quartening,
fore course, she goes lasking in fog
my peppermint's on the moors, ship's driving
be end to end, for that egg-nog.
I kiss her face, as she expected, was me afore,
she 's my Christmas strike of truth,
I pick her up, she laughs, eyes shine to ore,
and a sweet kiss I offer on her tooth.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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