Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Distant sands are whispering unrestrained,
It is my fate to face the breach, we three
sail; Nina, Pinta, and my Saint Marie,
To where the future waits to be released,
Agnostic, I, to fame or legacy,
Nay-sayers still rebuke my global folly:
To prove what ne’er before was thought to be.
Photo Friday: Distant