A Tattered Sail

Twas a foggy night in Gloucester

and drunk, some say, was I

fer breakin port, n' castin off

where ocean meets the sky.

and no one sailed away that night

but me, myself and I.

The bellowed sails arched forward

the mast gave dreadful moans,

as the biting winds came sharply through

with haunting, chilling tones.

no one stood the watch that night

but I, myself alone.

An hour out of Gloucester

and a nightmare out to sea,

I found the storm that laid in wait,

that waited there for me.

and face her is 

what I would do

upon the rolling sea.

The bow she plunged a mile deep

the waves crashed on the deck,

while I lay grip upon the helm

rain washed down my neck.

Now fear can travel to the heart

a storm the soul can weather,

and all my spirit drained that night

to hold that ship together.

Every line and buckle snapped

and every plank there be -

gave cries of death and dying,

as they twisted under me.

and no one ever felt as close

as I did to the sea.

Now the story from the mainland

and up and down the coast,

has torn apart my sturdy ship

and turned me to a ghost.

But I swear to you

on summer nights,

from the Gloucester Pup-N-Ale

upon the cold Atlantic face

some still can see me sail.

Out where the ocean meets the sky

some see a tattered sail.

Z. Corwin