I see my friends as
though through rainwashed glass.
They wait for me
with flowers in their hands.
We know that what
must be will come to pass
When sea has
covered the familiar sands.
The light has all
but left the threatening sky
As we four men
embark upon our task;
Push off from
granite quay and sails untie,
Each one of us with
heavy heart and face a mask.
To comfort her the
mourning women stay.
The mother of our
lovely boy, my wife
Who watches as we
move across the bay
And thinks upon
that precious, savaged life.
The sea is troubled
as we leave the port
And tries to loose
the burden that I hold.
Head into wind we
stop when halfway to the fort
I shake, not wholly
from the gusts and cold.
My friends support
me kneeling at the stern
As I pour out the
grains into the sea,
Then weep as
foresail slowly makes us turn
And my three
friends hold fast to me.
Flowers left behind
float in our wake.
With wind abaft and
billowed sail we ride.
Sturdy measures of
his armagnac we take
And toast our
memory of his life with pride.
And then the sun
came out and warmed us through.
Imagine that! The
sweet symbolic sun!
Then back to life
this sodden saddened crew,
A mournful task and
well and truly done.
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