The day was early yet,
Little rays of Sun slipping
Secretly beneath blankets of cloud,
The air was startlingly biting.
She gathered what little she had,
Running, panting, to the docks;
Hair loose and flying behind,
But forward was all she looked.
The ship's horn sounded sinister,
As though warning of her escape;
Heavy feet padded onto the vessel,
Silently bidding the solemn town goodbye.
Copyright © thearcticstar 2016