The darkness stretches overhead,
The water’s cold, forbidding —
Another night in Farrowswhite
To shiver hard, and draw in tight
From ghosts which there’s no ridding.

He looks upon the lonely gloom,
And wonders what she’s thinking:
But answers wash away like brine,
From casting of that heart’s last line
To keep his soul from sinking —

The fantasy of dreaming she
Would take him back in gladness,
That he can see with eyes closed tight
At sunset out on Farrowswhite
Upon the edge

Of madness

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