Poem By Andrew Shiston

In the darkness of the night
Lit by a three quarter moon
The swirling mist hovers
Over rough and ready cobbles
Like old fired cannon-smoke
Ghostly shadows of fighting ships
Clinging to the quay, fallen ancient castles
Masts of tallest red-wood trees
Arms stretched in disarray
A drawbridge of battered sodden wood
With spliced and knotted rope
Drunken press-ganged sailors
Board this shadow of sorrow and no hope
The mist now lightens
With the coming of the morn
Flood tide has reached the top of ebb
The cannon-shot of falling sail
Hemp and three-fold purchase fall upon the deck
Pennants proud, red-wood of mast and castle
Spars with canvas flapping, filling
Sail as fading shadows
Into the hungry seas and coming dawn

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The wind begins to howl
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The fog is lifting and the foghorn silent
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And drifts across the fields
The ghostly shadows harden
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