Unseaworthy
I creak like an old ferry
coming in to meet the wharf
mindful of less agile passengers
but like a wayward skiff
my thoughts soon override the pier
bounce against its rails, veer off
impatient with each lurch and bump
engines churn, make the waters flounce
I want to glide, admire my wake
I’m taking longer at drydock
and can’t maintain this tight routine
too many layers patch my hull
beneath the waterline, barnacles itch
and I can feel those worms at work
I’m eager for an obscure berth.
How could such a man with diminutive stance,
be the leader of all the armies of France?
A little dictator ruling with a strong arm,
he will be exiled to where he can do no harm.
This leader is considered impetuous and frantic.
He plunged the continent into war like a maniac.
His forces were constantly on the attack.
He is bound for St. Helena in the South Atlantic.
Once overbearing with loquacious vehemence,
this Corsican is now our prisoner with reticence.
Talking to nobody while preferring isolation,
his impulsive military actions ruined his nation.
Although it was for only about a hundred days,
how he regained power was something to amaze.
I have been given orders while anchored out here.
No boats with curiosity seekers shall come near.
He has been handed over to us for his arduous journey.
The HMS Bellerophon is considered unseaworthy.
I have received word that he is now in our hand.
We shall set sail for the south on the Northumberland.
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