I walked down to the river
Where three lords met on a bridge,
They swept the vessels thither
On a final, pitching tide
To harbours men think we decide
I plead from the bank to halt the gyre,
Breath adrift at sea,
The crescent moon in sad retire,
Six-point stars unfree
And all my warring creeds afire
The church and cross beyond the shore
Rise through the blinding mist,
Our tryst is gone, the lords agree
On all, when all is said and done,
I know the tolling bells have won
But sail on, love, a surer home
And free – a quay just past the gloam
Is where you’ll wait
To send a flare, a guiding flare
When the last tide comes for me
Hayley Gibbons is a wife, mom and English teacher from the Eastern Cape of South Africa. She loves coffee and writing poetry – especially narrative – in her spare time.