The Ship

Gavin Brown

The Ship

To blame the rudder for her death

Or say it was a fault of mine

Would still keep me in my poor state

I cling to what once took my breath.

Her mast was weak and pieces split.

The sails were torn and of no use.

The helm would lead against my want.

No target that my guns could hit.

So to the keel I placed my charge.

Amongst the kegs and casks below.

My hope no longer rests with you.

Your anchor I must now discharge.

For fear is like the looming storm.

That keeps the mates up through the night.

It dwells between the old bulkheads.

Where faith and hope can find no dorm.

I pray that all the lamps are lit.

Like little children’s faces bright.

For when I see that nearing shore.

Yes on her bed of sand I’ll sit.