Where the Ships Go To Die
In the night, all is dark, when the moon can't be seen
when cool air blows lightly, though cooler still it seems
Not a soul in sight nothing living to be found
not even the waves dare to make their crashing sound
When the ocean is silent, when the bay beckons sleep
not even the willows then dare to weep
for tonight is the night the ships go to sleep
Across the waving beachgrass, and through the deadly peaceful night
lies a bay of silenced memories, in a hazy fog of light
here all sea fairing vessels go, when their adventures have gone dry
And so this is the place, the sacred place, where the ships go to die
Copyright © Anna Nomaly | Year Posted 2017
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