Chapter 40 harbor night

A distant anchor rings like staccato bells, The clouds float into the soft roundness like small fish. Small waves with mature laziness, Lightly attached to the ship's side, it is so greasy and soft. The stone steps of the ferry fall to the deep, This port is so quiet that it seems to be sleeping by the mother's hand. The lights draw golden towers on the water, The shadow of the boat, like an eagle, passes through like the wind. 1953