© G.V. 01-09-2012, All Rights Reserved
She thought of the details the Mistral sweeps
the tears she shed that night atop the deck
How beautiful it was to bear her dreams,
but why the heavens caused that evil wreck?
For ten odd months the postage she received,
the scent of ports conveyed and the ship's norm,
but near Alaska's Bering Strait, bereaved
the vessel spent her masts, within the storm.
The Mistral spoke that night, 'the ship was split',
and he was there inside the faint starlight,
he smiled - she guessed that he knew naught of it,
- how was his face angelical and bright!
He kissed her face (or so she thought), and hair,
and then she saw him on the captain's bridge
atop the Spring tides on departing fare,
upon the moors she laughed, conjuring griefs.
On Aleutians snows today and slow,
'Notre Dame Marion' heads on the windward tide;
atop the deck are standing in faint glow,
two ghosts that conn the ship on ether's glide.
© G.V. 01-09-2012
Contest: Any poem goes.
Sponsor: S. L.