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Troves of rotting treasures
Marked the highest morning tide
Where the ocean’s foaming tongue
Left its print upon the land.
I trifled with the sea wrack
That was scrawled upon the sand
When a seaborne scent came wafting;
Onward sailing to the shore.

Pale, aghast, I stood in awe
To curse the wretched thing I saw.

Yet counting footprints from the scene
The vision haunts me all the more;
Forever sailing to the fore
Upon the winds of sordid thoughts,
Where my mind is ever stained,
Though one question there remains -
How a body, once alive,
Could be so full of eels.

— The End —