The Far Shore
Pitched in at lifes deep end,
Perilously sinking, almost drowning,
Swimming against the current, the rising tide,
Buffeted by waves of recrimination,
Sucked down in an undertow of sorrow,
Foundering on jagged rocks of fear,
Helplessly propelled by the surf of self-doubt.
Eventually the stormy froth and spume subsides,
Calming seas bathe the battered soul.
The beckoning hand of God is clasped
And safely the swimmer gains the far shore.
Rose-Mary Gower
Pitched in at lifes deep end,
Perilously sinking, almost drowning,
Swimming against the current, the rising tide,
Buffeted by waves of recrimination,
Sucked down in an undertow of sorrow,
Foundering on jagged rocks of fear,
Helplessly propelled by the surf of self-doubt.
Eventually the stormy froth and spume subsides,
Calming seas bathe the battered soul.
The beckoning hand of God is clasped
And safely the swimmer gains the far shore.
Rose-Mary Gower
