written by: James Walmsley
Gone is the day of the sheeted mast,
sail ships a thing of the past.
Memories fade of voyages made.
Through oceans vast and currents fast,
into the wind a storm to outlast.
Four points to port heading due west,
now she swoons she’s doing her best,
but yet to face her greatest test.
Land ahoy shouts a voice from the nest,
one hundred feet above the rest.
Howling, screeching the tempest grows,
In to its teeth she boldly goes.
As if her fate it already knows.
Towards the rocks the wind it blows,
A seduction like a poet’s prose.
The helmsman fights to turn the wheel,
the ship’s fate the rage will seal.
The Captain mutters a prayer an appeal,
then the captain he dost kneel.
To his god he makes one last deal.
The cruel sea rips like thunder,
all aboard are thrown asunder.
Now is the time for her to go under,
for the sea to claim its plunder.
Then all was calm in miraculous wonder.
All was silent the storm abated.
Thirty-four souls the manifest stated,
all were saved but one was fated.
The Captain as the deal stated,
the cruel see at last was sated.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This is just a reminder of the the magnificent sailing ships of yesteryear.
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