Notre
Dame Marion
She
thought of all details the Mistral sweeps
the
tears she shed that night atop the deck;
how
beautiful it was to bear her dreams
but
why the heavens have induced
the wreck?
For
ten odd months the messages received,
the
scent of ports brought in, so to inform
but
near Alaska, Bering Strait, bereaved
the
ship had spent her masts, in waves and storm.
The
Mistral spoke that night, 'the ship was split',
and
then he was with her, in waxen light;
he
smiled - she guessed he knew naught of it;
how
was his smile angelical and bright!
He
kiss'd her face (or so she thought), and hair
and
then he sail'd away, in her belief,
atop
the tides on his departing fare,
on
moors she laughed to conjure the grief.
On
Aleutians snows today and slow,
'Notre
Dame Marion' advances on the tide;
atop
the deck are standing in faint glow,
two
ghosts that conn the ship on ether's glide.
©
G. Venetopoulos 2012-01-09, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic
pentameter)
