When we came back in the small hours of the dawn

With first light growing slowly in the tiny leaves,

I thought you had consented.


But over the coffee cups I saw

That you had plucked me like a stick of wood

Out of the foaming water

And had dragged me to dry ground.


And though I regretted your decision

I was grateful for the firm earth under my feet.


© Russ Lewis Winter, 1958

Revised March 29, 1996