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A passenger on the boat slowly drifting down stream,
Beside me an old man, next to him his young Queen.
On the other side sits a woman covered in dirty rags,
Clutching to torn old yellow plastic shopping bags.

The Captain at the helm steering straight on ahead,
Not turning an eye to distract if nothing said.
Slowly drifting onward being drawn by the tide,
I sit and ponder what's on the other side.

The banks of the stream you can barely see,
With vines and plants swaying in the breeze.
The sweet smell of evergreen tickling my nose,
To look through the trees into the eyes of evil foes.

Not turning here nor there to take another route,
The Captain drives on to deliver his stone dead loot.
Fun has stopped and the party is over for now,
When we get to our port we give our solemn vows.

We had our chance to give a go and make something of our lives,
We succeed or we failed and ended up in strife.
That's it and we have no more, it's over like and empty cup of tea,
The day was right, but the time was wrong for me.

You see remains and remember flavour in side the cup,
Yet you can't remake it exactly the same.
On the boat we stop momentarily to pick up one more,
I try to see him, because it looked like you for sure.

Learn more about this author, Darren Brealey.
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