Transcendence Part IV - 2011/08/06

A storm was brewing in the air
Preceded by the light downpour
Urging a stiff troller to wake
As he slept on the boats floor
When he awoke he saw a horizon
Which had so obviously changed
This weather was out of season
And many stars were rearranged

He rowed home through the rain
Feeling as a stranger in exile
Unaware of reward that awaited
While he rowed that final mile
When he actually saw the shore
It took him moments to realize
That there was no more village
Nor his clan to serve as prize

He saw the ruins of that jetty
Where he had launched long ago
And those lush green foothills
Which were now covered in snow
Scattered in the sand was wood
Aged remnants of familiar huts
And then the troller collapsed
Changed by these thousand cuts

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