Young Writers Society

A woman light and pale like all the mist,
between her crooked fingers clasped she coins,
and I, an oarsman rocked by only waves,
did hail her mighty greetings from afar.

"Two trips," said she, coins falling at my feet,
"to go and come again to this fine shore."
"Where will ye go?" I asked her with a smile.
"As far from here as ye will row me, sir."

"You care not of your destination, ma'am?
More shores are there than can be counted now."
She cried and said to take her where I please,
"It doth not matter, just away from here!"

So poling off from yonder misty shore,
we set off on our wat'ry path, unbound
for any destination real or true,
for "any place at all" is not a place.

We sailed on rivers of reflected stars.
The ripples from the oars set them to dance.
A liquid life we lived that chilly night,
reflections of our faces grew and shrank.

I felt the bow hit solid land, unknown.
The woman thanked me, kiss upon my brow,
then stepped off to the nameless shore in hope
and faith that future paths would bring her light.

"I will return within a fortnight's time,"
the disappearing shadow called afar,
"I will be back, good sir so please be here!
I know I will need ye to travel home."

Before I promised her I would be there,
the retched waves took hold upon my boat,
and vows of mine were lost within the wind,
"I'll take you there and back if so you wish!"

Two weeks I spent in blissful ignorance,
but when I came back to that unknown shore,
no woman pale nor ghostly waited there.
The coins she left felt heavy in my purse.

I waited for three days and lonely nights,
awaiting her return to yonder shore.
And then methought I heard a tiny voice,
"Your lovely, misty lady is no more!"

I threw myself against the wooden oars,
and rowed myself down to the churning sea.
There gold and silver coins shone in my hand,
then sparkled, flying though the air and sea.

A thousand tears cried I that dreadful night,
my sobs all echoed off the stony rocks
in mem'ry of a woman hardly-known,
who broke her promise of a two-way trip.

She'll be the only passenger I've missed,
her death-shroud was the ever-present mist.