Charon's Passengers
Into the silent water, slips the silent prow
Lifting the dripping anchor over the tilting bow.
There's no star on the skyline, past the silver moon
All the world he ferries, in secret, late or soon.
Into the faint horizon where no man comes back
Each man travels lightly. Each man takes no pack.
All the world he ferries, in secret, late or soon
Into the faint horizon, past the silver moon.
poem by Sheena Blackhall
Added by Poetry Lover
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