The Drifter

The story of this premier decoy carver and poet Steve Ward and his work touches me in ways that I cannot convey via blackberry. . .here's one of his fine works:

I'm just an old has-been decoy.
No ribbons have I won.
My sides and head are full of shot
From many a blazing gun.

My home has been the river.
Just drifting along with the tide.
No roof have I had for shelter.
No one place where I could abide.

I've rocked to winter's wild fury
I've scorched in the heat of sun.
I've drifted and drifted and drifted
For tides never cease to run.

I was picked up by some fool collector
Who put me on a shelf.
But my place is out on the river
Where I can drift all by myself.

I want to go back to the shoreline
Where flying clouds hang thick and low
And get the touch of the rain drops.
And the velvety soft touch of the snow.


I am not a very outwardly emotional soul. I would consider myself perceptive and nostalgic and sensitive but I try to be rather private about it. I don't think I can recall the last time I have reacted so emotionally to a collection of poetry. It's a strange and beautiful experience.
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