All in a bottle

All in a bottle

A two hundred year old bottle

Once full, now empty sits

In shadows where a poet

Rests against a weathered wall

Writing in each passing day

With blank expression, scribbling

On long note paper now turned

Yellow with decades gone before

A view changing, as it did for

Those gone before, to lean against

A different wall at each day’s arrival

While to have completed a poem

Before day’s end, and place it

Down through a narrowest of necks

A two hundred year old bottle

One to of travelled across oceans and lands

So varied and vast in nature and cultures

Five generations within one family of poets

Eight hundred seasons, and now the last

As one final poem makes it’s passage

To join all the others to of been written

In indelible ink and never read, not once

For here time has arrived, as one fades

Into the night against a last wall, alone

But in the company of an inked ancestry

Far from any known place of importance

Another two centuries of weather take their toll

Removing all trace, other than a buried stone

Sealed, thick glassed bottle, waiting to be found

Awaiting to be read for a first time in the light of day

To be remembered today as a once forgotten history.

4 responses to “All in a bottle

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