No longer seaworthy, and the hull
Is wrapped in a cloak of barnacle
Though buoyant once on ocean sprays-
Skimming along on sun-bright waves
While lovers held their sailor’s trysts
Paltry secrets in salty mists
This noble vessel of silent wood
Kept secrets no one living could,
Season again, to cut the wake;
To drink the tide, to thirst and slake,
Until dry docked just lengths away
From the beckoning crystal bay.
Falling vacant to disrepair
Surrounded by the fresh sea air-
The death in view of every eye,
To live, to sail, to yearn, to die.