The Weathered Glass

The weathered glass in harbor deep reflects your eyes long gone from me and seals your watery grave. Sea shells sing you now to sleep, the weeds confess your memory within the bird-thronged cove. On wind-soughed days your voice I hear, its roughened cadence like a moan which mocks me with its edge of unresolved lament and fear; a shriek, a wail and then its gone to bottom in the sludge. My soul bemoans your tragedy, a life extinguished by your hand, condemned to Neptune's lair; consigned to quiver restlessly, ne'er again we'll tread the strand, a misbegotten pair!