I’ve been thinking in iambic pentameter all day.

Sunset on the ocean

by James Swanson

The setting of the evening sun at last,
Reflected in the ocean ere it fades,
Has painted here a distant silhouette,
Which burned its image on my memory.

Upon the sea-washed shores I wondered long,
To contemplate what meaning it contained,
What far-off thing there, shadowed in the sun,
Should cast so strange a form as I beheld.

And just before my answer could be formed,
The solar disk was drowned by endless tide,
Then vanished my strange shape into the night,
As childhood fabrication long ago.

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