The boats sway gently in the cradle of the tide,
their hulls whispering stories to the darkening sea.
Lanterns blink across the water like watchful eyes,
and the air smells of salt,old ropes,and distant rain.

A gull cries out,mot for company but for memory,
and the echo drifts among the masts like a ghost.
Somewhere, someone tends a fire
behind a cracked window,
waiting for a name to return with the morning fog.

The harbour lights do not flicker in haste-
they hold their glow like a promise never spoken.
Each beam a thread in the tapestry of longing,
woven across decades of departures and returns.

There is stillness here that never feels empty,
as if silence itself were keeping vigil.
And though time pulls away like tide from the shore,
something always stays-soft,unseen,forgotten.