no finer things

the little pains add up to something large
the little warmth seems quickly to escape
the message has run out the little tape
the body does not move without a charge
uncertain you stand wobbling at the marge
of this slow river wondering at each shape
in middle distance your senses almost scrape
to tell the outline of some ship or barge
not through this fog but in the sharpest light
the rowers bring the longboat in to land
to claim the place its deepest secrets to reveal
this is the means by with we show our might
you wonder blinking on that golden strand
what signals the days coming would unreel