Loss Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

These voyagers chance a risk, to a position, action rocks with wave motion; atop water done floated: not a plan notion threat.

Ten men, with wives, at play kids, following skids, at desks check all jewels, secure pen; inside a craft den: core in taken walks.

The ship made of metal, it's not a rental, said of a petal its invincible, roam visitors vessel, see bright eyes; and mouths: dental.

The folks finding a tall hall, into its low dark quarter, slow sailor's shadow, no fears glad in passengers; smiles fun: all is mellow.

A sailor suddenly changes things, a bell, alert guest, soon of danger, by a yell, hell; flee to side lifeboats to tell: not detail reason.

This cruise ship at the top is hit, stop by bang, broke realize vessel it is riders, pop; hop plunge: sinking it people therein waters.

This raft fills with water, in flood, surges to muck wet rugs, no luck, it's not a duck, in this whirlpool; at tuck ark lost: this ship.

The craft is waft, eternal stated claim, not so that, ends lie raft everlastings, a vessel by hand formed; constructed: a daft ship.