A Sigh of Relief
A rogue wave and hurricane winds
tossed our vessel and broke her back.
And night holds us in its embrace
as cerulean seas turn black.
We have no compass or rudder,
but luckily spot a lagoon.
And with the tide assisting us
we hope to drift there come full moon.
The breakers are merely ripples,
indicating there is no reef.
And as currents take us to shore
we all share a sigh of relief.
The small island appears brooding,
smelling like someone's cooking meat.
For cannibals inhabit it,
and greet us as something to eat.
(Quatrain)
7/7/2015
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