Fathoms Low Poem by Jay Hall
Fathoms Low
Fore soon to bear
the storm shall come.
My schooner wrecked;
its halyards wrung.
Her brittle mast
shorn at the base.
But epic tales
time shan't erase.
Below the surface
sinking slow.
Cradle thy body
Fathoms Low.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/26/2024 11:09:17 PM # 1.0.0.1119
