Like a ship slipping into port

On Novemeber, at dawn,

At first it was all white,

Now the blankness is gone. 

Like a ship going out again,

Through the encroaching mist,

To find a secret golden island,

It's shimmering bank it kissed.

Like a sprout the explorer found

Amongst that golden shore,

A bright green shoot pokes up

Where nothing was before.

Like a sunrise, like a wheat field,

Like a firecracker at night,

Poetry slipped, sprouted, startled me

And brought me to the light.