Old Ship

Your name is lost in time’s cold shroud

a small voice in a roaring crowd

Still one persistent mast stands proud

witness to some lost heritage

yet with tenacity endowed


What cargo filled your open hold

now cloaked with moss as you grow old?

Are mem’ries of you warm or cold?

or has time stopped them with the grave

as you will fade with rust and mold


Timbers, planks and rigging rotting

from the lack of crew attending

and the years of weather’s pounding

lying in the muck and seaweed

must leave you, old ship, desponding


Left wishing that you could have sunk

instead of being left for junk

by raping salvage be defunct

and vandals to humiliate

then made to rot in stagnant gunk


Oh! –– To be cracked by vehement squall

or torn by battle’s cannon ball

perchance capsized by tidal wall

Plummeted to the mystique deep

Strange legends your name then recall


But that, old ship, was not to be

You sit and rot in front of me

in shames decay for all to see

with bleaching sun and warping rain

the tellers of your history

N.N. 8/73