When will she sail, this ship so plagued
Who for so long has known no port
What master's hand could now unfurl
Her aging canvas, yet strong and taut.
She lies await in silent sand
That hones her hull in searing sun
And moans and strains with each advancing storm
And sips the sea for needed nourishment.
The days she knew, she lives again
In involuted reverie
And waits for him to come to her
To chart their course toward open sea.