Captain's Log

Rescue parties in despair, Spot his schooner drifting there In the coming fog. Someone heard him shoot a flare; Naught remains, no hide nor hair, Of the old seadog. Fear is etched into the air, Frantic scribblings make them stare At his final log: “Miles from any port or quay, Sailing on the glassy sea, I observe this morn Something taller than a tree - Wonder what the thing can be! Suddenly forlorn, Sweating madly as I see More than one - in fact ‘tis three - Massive beasts unshorn. “Staring at the dreadful sight, Chest is feeling mighty tight, Standing on the deck. Fearsome creatures; will they bite? Gulping at their awful height, Watch one crane its neck - Scary, though ‘tis full daylight. Will not stand a chance to fight - Think they plan to wreck…” For David’s Virelai contest