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After the storm passes,Author's Notes
sea-wrack washes up on the beach
to lie smooth and damp on the sand --
driftwood worn pale and fine
from the slender ribs of the ships,
darker planks from the spine
the white bones of thunder-whales
and the dagger teeth of deathfins
strewn along the high-tide line --
all alike now that they have come to this,
ghosts cast up from a watery grave,
their savage might come to naught in the end.
This poem came out of the May 2012 Muse Fusion. It was inspired by a prompt from Ellen Million. It has been posted publicly as the freebie for this session.
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[Concept and Site Design: Ellen Million | Website basecode: Ron Swartzendruber]
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