Jacquelyn Nicholson Poet I do not know?

The Grand Old Lady

One hundred year’s young.
The
grand old lady
lying still
in the blackness
of time.

Her great hull
standing silent
weeping for
its precious
cargo.

Shivering vaporous forms
of first class and steerage.
Stroll hand in hand
together to the
surging currents
of the Atlantic.

A vast wardrobe
of scattered luggage,
across the sandy floor.
Small ghostly forms
play chasey among
the tattered decks.

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Ayesha Karim February 19, 2013 at 11:54 AM I like this poem. I want to be like that lady 100 years young still alive be an infamous Poet with a dope waldrobe and jewelry packed up to vacation somewhere in the Caribbean for my 100th birthday...