Antiquated Shore

On the edge of barren, corroded shore Where sailors ply their trade no more No tenured harbor gallant fleets to moor, or docks to greet restless crew, strident commodore No expansive peers into the mighty ocean waves bore, or rustic wharves to accompany the dank decor Gone are the tradesmen whose skilled hands weathered ships did restore, and the tawny, burly arms of the itinerant, shuffling stevedore No inquisitive merchants the cargo's value to score Yet the drifting currents grainy sketches still store In the eerie winds the rasping breaths of stevedores soar Through stormy gales, commands of disembarking captain's roar Timeless silhouettes of wafting masts hover o'er ocean floor Apparitions of ruddy sailors from briny mists pour Out of the steamy fog, pirate ghosts still yell encore From foaming waves, drunken sailors one more drought implore