Treasure Island

Andrew Shiston

(16th March 1943 / Portland, Dorset England)

The Ship


The sky grows dark, seagulls scream
The wind begins to howl
The storm is close, we cringe with fear
The sea grows larger still
Our mouths grow dry, we hold on tight
It's not yet time to die
We battle on against the wind
The seas go charging by
Our vessel groans as if alive
She fights against the storm
Her heart beats fast, her head lifts up
Searching for the dawn
When daylight comes the wind has gone
The sea is calmer still
She proudly dips and rolls
A mass of rust and weed
All that's left of an aging ship
That's carried us across the seas
To ports across the world.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Edited: Saturday, February 26, 2011
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