There’s A Little Green Gate

Beside the sea, at early morn
In silence, out to restless walk
I hear the waves amid the dark
And hope they’ll drown out all the talk

The voices in my bleary head
With problems there I may not solve
And try to let my tensions go
To let my worries just dissolve

But there seems little I can do
Except once more myself enjoin
To fight the fight as best I can
And, here and there, to light purloin

Such moments as my heart can steal.
The times when I can get away
And listen to the wind and sea
Before the start of troubled day

I walk and walk, it seems, for hours
Past everywhere I’ve ever been
The sun is coming up, and now
A few stray cottages begin

To dot in silhouette the line
The shadows up there on the shore
I veer up towards a garden path
In cinder-block, from days of yore

I see these tiny houses there.
With wooden fences, weather worn;
I skirt around the edges of
The last one as the new day’s born

And see it is unoccupied.
A sign sits in the yard, with rate
The realtor’s name in letters large
Past where there’s a little green gate

I open and approach the sign
I take the flier and look round
The outside of the tiny place
Upon the light and sandy ground

The wind now blows the tall sea oats
That straggle lonely here, and bare;
I hear a dog bark down the way
The morning sun’s now nearly there

And turn to leave back through the gate
And start the long trudge back to where
My love lies sleeping in our bed
To reassume the world of care

And wonder: were we tourists not
Who made this place what our lives were,
Could I still wander, lost in thought
Assured I’d still come home
To her?

Daily Prompt:

Can’t Drive 55

Take the third line of the last song you heard, make it your post title, and write for a maximum of 15 minutes. GO!


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