Gloom settles on the deck of The Albion.
Long past dusk,
the stars slowly blink themselves out of the growing sky.

Empty bottles and barrels roll and crash with the waves that scratch wearily at her bough

In her cabin, an Englishman dreams of summer mornings and good wine.

Atop her mast, a tattered ***-soaked flag dances limply, splendidly in the black.

Somewhere far behind her, in a forgotten sky, an Arcadian sun lazily rises.

She sails on course, further into the night.
She dreams of a a brighter dawn.