Arne Bister


When all the winds were sleeping,
no sound the silence tore,
no lazy trouts were leaping,
no waves on distant shore,
far out a little boat
which was afloat,
the sail, once billowed, sunk.
That really stunk!

The crew, first slightly addled
took heart and did not quail.
They stayed the course and paddled
but soon began to (f)ail.
They made it to the shore.
No, nevermore
will ever they set sail
with winds so frail.


All rights belong to its author. It was published on by demand of Arne Bister.
Published on on 07/10/2008.


The author


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