The Pirate Poem by David C Probst

Each day he does his walk along the shore,
Each step more agonizing than the last,
He lags his weathered frame so he can cast
A pensive look out to the sea once more.
The stretching pier his goal, his daily chore,
Each balister a station of his past,
Each plank a tree ring of his old life's mast,
He steps out to the sea as times before.
So there he stands, his head held high and proud,
Defying the unruly gust ahead,
Indulging in old memories at sea.
Both ship and mates have vanished from the ground,
Yet he's alive with pictures in his head
And riches no one else will have or see.