Crimson flowers in a vase
Perched on a cloudy window sill
The quiet sea stretches, until its lost
And boats lie in harbor, still
The sun has passed its peak
By a fleeting hour or two
But the minutes here, sweat and sleep
And cool shadows there are few
If I walked out to the shore
Savoring the breezes blowing in
And all my promises ignored
Could someone truly call it sin
Poetry and Verse 