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Sep 2018
Late in the year and in the night,
A ghostly giant came into sight,
It slowly trailed and bulged the ancient causeway,
Intent on hiding out of harms way.

A magnificent beast from the age of sale,
Came into port to shelter from the winter storms and gales,
It groans and creaks from 50 sheets and rattles,
Like a wounded whale with its brass decor and iron chattels.

The body built of wood and steel,
With copper wrapped around it's keel,
To guard its cargo of rarest spice, silks and precious metals,
It puffed and steamed along like a giant boiled kettle.

It has travelled far with many scars,
Battled continents and violent seas with ease,
From the cape around the horn,
And onto the west indies.

It seeks and finally finds its place to rest and moor,
But alas the storm that winter did not pause,
It reached and breached the gates and harbour walls,
The fox was in through failing doors.

It attacked the beauty in its finest fettles,
Her belly broke from bow to stern,
It sharply shifts and lists while the candles burn,
Then sinks down to the bottom where it groans and settles.

It's fate and history long forgotten,
But for local shanty hymns,
The bulk is left but timbers rotten,
With cut back beams and withered limbs.

From endless tides it now resides,
Out of site and local memory,
Through rusted tears it counts the years,
Underneath a sea of nettles.
Mark Penfold
Written by
Mark Penfold  Bournemouth
     Weeping willow and Woody
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