She was a shipping yard,
Covered in snow and ice,
Her words broke apart in many ideas,
They shattered and fell,
To a ground of many pieces,
Cold waters and cold stares,
They kept her up and they kept insomnia,
As if upon a leash of little length,
Ideas and misplaces sentences grouped together,
They formed dreams that made her and,
The victims of her social stories, wonder,
Wonder and wander of a cause for such immagination,
Her boats, her ships, her plans of improvement,
They all seemed to bend with the test of time,
A spent and splendid, waiting and living,
Living for the fresh breaths that come with stale sea air,
Waiting for another foreign hello, and a local hello,
Sending thoughts, and sending gifts, all with a certain,
Very curious price, a file in a folder, she waited,
Tedious excitement and the glowing eyes of everyone else,
The smiles and the nods, as she went on her way,
She was a way from here to there,
And she was happy with her seas, her sometimes snow, and her sometimes ice.