GREEN ESCAPE
At three o'clock in the afternoon
On a hot September day,
And a frostbit russet tree;
(White canvas wet with spray)
Along her canted lee.
Of the typist's pounding keys,
Than that by a motor fanned—
To watch the rhyming seas
On a beach of sun-blanched sand.
For hills and windy skies;
No clerkly task shall dull;
Of adventures I devise,
Of an outbound vessel's hull.
And make my green escape,
Who have more docile souls;
Have a very different shape,
In a row of pigeon holes!
My eyes still pine for the comely line
Of an outbound vessel's hull.