Cape Horn Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

He took the risky windward course
In strong depression's wake
Where icebound like an untamed horse
White death would ram and shake
His battered mast without remorse
Strong keel about to break

His hand still gripped the frozen wheel
And now defunct e-probe
As roaring forties spun and reeled
Ballasts and bursting lobes
Hull slammed with frozen tons of steel
From jealous Neptune's robes

Skipper now Southern Ocean's slave
Too late to plan or hedge
Prostrate in merciless rogue waves
As furious fifties pledged
To punish all trespassing staves
Drown with its frozen dredge

The Argus unit did not sound
A frantic call for aid
Nor sign of flares or beacons found
Where he had been waylaid
Friends grieving family on firm ground
Now vigilantly prayed

Had his eyes seen that mighty point
Or had the waters hurled
Their sea-blessed oil to now anoint
As Dead Men's Road unfurled
A cryptic welcome to appoint
With chants of pale sea birds

Was he enticed to that cold road
Much strewn with salty graves
Sad sailors seaweed strewn abode
So still beneath the waves

At night gnarled ghosts from liquid graves
Rise from old wrecks at rest
Their hollow dirges mingling still
With thunderous wave crests

Nor will they tell if he had reached
His Camelot - Cape Horn
A long awaited dream now breached
From blind ambition born

The sea will tempt in Siren's call
The coward or the brave
In certain doom they surely fall
Bold captain and dull knave

He took the risky windward course
In steep depression's wake
Played in harsh frozen latitudes
A game with highest stakes.