A Poem for Port Clyde
"Port Clyde," the poet asserts, "is real."
June A. Knowles
Port Clyde and Marshall Point Light
Joan Small
In early summer,
Port Clyde
at peninsula’s edge,
shimmers in late
afternoon fog.
Schooners lie at anchor,
lobster boats nose
into southeast wind
while Marshall Point
moans a warning.
Salt mist veils
dark spruces,
silvers a disk of sun,
muffles voices and
whine of engines.
At the general store,
soft wide floor boards
yield to modern footsteps
with antiquity’s
pine patience.
A wharf sign,
direct, and tempting,
“Monhegan Boat."
Port Clyde
Is real.
June A. Knowles
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