by Jem Croucher


Sad, bereft, alone, forgotten
Small boat on the bank
It’s final resting place remains
From the day it sank

Rotting and its old paint faded
Graffiti now replaces
Vacant eyes look to the water
Holes with tattered spaces

Water-filled as high tide turns
It has seen better days
A sad and trite reminder
Of a fatal summer blaze


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