Widows' Walk

She waits, and Oh so patiently! every day she looks, ("Oh, might I gloat?") for sight of that one trawler, 'The Forever,' cresting waves, he, wildly cursing, all the while he's still afloat, and every day she moans, "Oh, may he never..." Nails bitten to the quick, worrying her apron string or some small piece of fabric; she's constantly in hope the weather's kind, carelessly cleaning candlesticks, she fiddles with her wedding ring to occupy her mind. The ocean seethed, and then it settled, roared once more, its fury unrestrain'd. The sea and Mary sharing mixed emotions, would he wave, or would he wander? chain'd in brute defiance, shamed if all his catch were empty hull and broken promises. A prideful man was he, and never satisfied 'til he had stretched his nets to overflowing. As much tied to Neptune's rhythms as her rhyme, and sometimes even more so, he'd struggle 'gainst all odds before he'd quit, but it was time; time to raise the sails, admit he's bested, and plot a course for Mary, fair and frail, but cruel weather proved his blind undoing, his compass broke, he couldn't see for hail, his boat a mass of many splinter'd pieces, he tried to make it home, to no avail. Mary saw the wreck upended on the shoreline, and saw the name 'Forever' on its side, "wait," she cried, "I will not live without you, forever in your arms I must abide!" She cast herself from off the highest landing and was borne off with the ebbing of the tide.