Retired

Do you see it there, hidden in the bushes? 

A boat, like a fish out of water,

 Born to float, but now condemned to stagnate, 

To lie fallow amidst the weeds, 

Slowly sinking into the earth from which 

 It first emerged, hewn by hands 

 That dreamed of future adventures, 

Just as our parents dreamed 

Of what we might accomplish when we’d grown — Dreams now deceased or turned to dust 

As we watch the world we’d hoped to create 

Spin apart, having somehow lost its center…