S-T-U-V

Strange phantoms taught
of that remorseless date
A tale that a mother
might sing to her babe

To anchor at last
in the Harbor of Dreams
A land of love
where memory sleeps.

Ulysses-like
from the misty deep,
While over the wake
the shadows sleep

Vision or dream, prophetic still
Of all the land wherein we dwell
Older hears are waiting
still