© 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 messages received,
the scent of ports brought in, her to inform,
but near Alaska, Bering Strait, bereaved
the ship had spent her masts, in waves and storm.
The Mistral spoke that night, 'the ship was split',
and he was there in unworldly faint light,
he smiled - she guessed that he didn't know of it,
- how was his smile 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,
on moors she laughed just to conjure the 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