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Fog of Lubec


Mark McCauley

This poem was written about a precious, fleeting time I had with my family in a wonderful and unique place called Lubec, Maine.

The misty fog of Lubec, Maine,
Hazy blanket, over seacoast lain,
Dims the sight of seagulls flown,
Muffles sound of foghorn blown.

Gentle waves in harbor rock,
Lobster boats, their traps on dock,
Bell on buoy rings randomly,
In timely manner, with the sea.

Bands of red on tower white,
Guide ships past the Quaddy Light,
Where endless waves meet rocky coast,
Of perilous passage, old men boast.

And stony beaches yield treasures untold,
In wait of little hands to hold,
Ancient stones now washed by time,
Each a prize, young eyes to find.

The sound of horn on evening breeze,
A little village, at edge of sea,
Memories once touched, will ever retain,
The misty fog of Lubec, Maine.

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