The water’s daughters
Sun themselves on the rocks
Each a forbidden maiden
Who sailors watch from the docks
Ancient maritime legends warn:
“Covet not pearls that adorn
The pretty sea-maidens’ hair,
Nor trust the maids to guide you
Across their watery lair,
Or misfortune sails beside you”
A vessel, once well rigged and trusty
Now struggled rickety and rusty
Tossed by a storm like a bathtub toy.
Suddenly, a teenaged boy,
- A deck-hand new at sailing -
Was tossed over the railing.
“Man overboard!” the crewmen cried.
Alas, before they even tried
To save the boy, he disappeared.
“The storm will take us all” they feared,
But no more than a moment prayed.
The First Mate to the Lookout bayed:
“Find us port! Or else methinks
This our bonnie vessel sinks!”
“Tonight on solid ground we feast!
Island, about a mile north-east”
And so, north-east the sailors bore
And all but one made it to shore.
For the deck-hand who the waves had swallowed
Still in salty waters wallowed.
Half-way dead, and half alive,
Too weary now to even strive
To take his beloved sea-maid’s hand
And let her lead him back to land.
(Rhyme Of The Ancient Mariner, anyone?)
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