The surf had now withdrawn,
Leaving small tide pools,
Here and there.
Sludgy green moss
Clung to some half-submerged rocks,
And beyond, in the shallows,
Lay the wreck.
Rust speckled its hull and cabin.
The wooden hatches were still battened down,
Hiding who knows what secrets below.
And the decks seemed somehow mournful,
Listing sideways and lifeless.
Yet I swear,
If she was restored to her former métier,
Her bustling, busy, glorious world,
Off before the sun rose fully,
She would bring a great catch home.

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