Late Afternoon on a Norfolk Wherry

His face is traced and creased by Norfolk gales,

His skin tanned Van Dyke brown as wherry sails,

The wherryman sits on the tiller aft,

With steady hand he guides his graceful craft.

A waterfowl with broad vermillion hatch,

The wherry glides through reed and willow thatch,

Its sail cuts dark into the sparkling light

And startles long-necked cormorants into flight;

The wherryman observes the soaring birds

Scatter feathers in the sky like words.

As sundown is announced in gold and red

And other folk prepare themselves for bed,

The wherryman moors close to windswept beach

To watch the sun slip slowly out of reach.


© Kim M. Russell, 2016

Norfolk Wherry

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