At Eventide

Sometime at evening when the tide is low
I shall slip my mooring and sail away,
With no response to the friendly hail
Of kindred craft in the busy bay.
In the quiet hush of the twilight pale,
When night stoops down to embrace the day,
And the voices call and the waters flow ---
Sometime at eve when the tide is low,
I shall slip my mooring and sail away.

Thru purple shadows that darkly trail
O'er the ebbing tide of the unknown sea,
I shall fare me away with a dip of sail,
And a ripple of water to tell the tale
Of a lonely voyager sailing away
To mystic isles where at anchor lay
The craft of those who have gone before
O'er the unknown sea, to the unknown shore.

A few who have watched me sail away
Will miss my craft from the busy bay;
Some loving souls that my heart holds dear
In silent sorrow will drop a tear,
But, I shall have peacefully furled my sail
In moorings sheltered from the storm and gale,
And greet family and friends who have gone before
O'er the unknown sea, to the unknown shore.

(author unknown)
in memory of Donald Allen Lewis.
the father of a dear friend.

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