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Contest |
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| Simon Nomis | ||
| Neptune, and the soon forgotten salt of seasons past Wash out from us like dunes of desert sand. Waves Of memory fade, unstuck by trident's spear. The last Survivor, like a shipwreck on a spot of land, craves Ripe fruit, a lover's hand, and water pure and clear. For each of us, alone and without hope, rescue is near-- A stranger voicing comfort in the dark, a crust of bread, A cup of wine-- and words to celebrate one risen from the dead. |
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| Visitors: 00894 |