Home for years, rising each day and taking a new look on his journal unfinished page.
His future could not behold his present yet peering the river of his being with no choice but to turn himself in.
The captain remembers not the dready, hopeless time.
Rather the harbor's colour in the breeze waving to him, beaming with hope : " I think onward the years flow, No one is so forsaken without a turning point in their fortune. "
Turning of his sadness to joy with a rising spirit full of passion flowing like blood.
Beaming with joy and happiness; he who laugh last, surely laugh best
3 Comments
Room to improve. Very nice
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