Low TIde

Early in the morning and the tide is low.
The fishing boats are still away, working.
All of us waiting for the tide to turn.

About this poem.

My depression poem, because mornings are the hardest. Or a poem about tides. Or a poem about a change in fortune. Poetry is never about one thing.

Now that that is out of my system. I can get to work on the good stuff.

The photograph was taken in Provincetown. Mass.

Tom