I see the drifters drifting away,
They're just like driftwood, seldom long stay
In any place, as the tides of time
Hold other options much more sublime.
They don't pan out, thus, soon they are gone,
Like the beauty of early morn dawn
Where next to drift? There's no one who knows,
But drifting onward, do you suppose
There is a love of drifting on, too;
The nature of drifters, to drift on through.
Drifting through life, one day at a time,
Would seem a waste, but love poet's rhyme
Has room for drifters that come and go,
As poetic drifting, a love that can grow.
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