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
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