There was a wash at the bank-of-the-river
And tattered frays
Of ribbon and dress
Were scattered.
Everywhere as far as the eyes could see,
Was blood-soaked mountain drops
And the river was pink for a day
And no symbol of love.
As the ocean carried out the treasure’s
Of the ships’ wreck
And suddenly 87 children
Were alone, in the middle of the Atlantic.
A sudden Island
And no one had lived here,
But Pigs, Horses, and Cows.
And the Scarecrow at the Cliff.
The Children would hop off the cliff as their first memory was their parents’
Hand clasped and violently let go as they were jerked to their presumed death
And mommy was tattered in white-satin-boots and held the hands
Of another besides their daddy they hadn’t seen in 3 years: since the War Started.
Barrels and ages and tonics and jewels.
Lined every ship’s wall
And even the Art was not used,
It was buried.
Tonic after tonic,
And there was no foragable food.
They said it was unsafe out there.
So we did not leave and crept.
And the SchoolChildren are 3 ft taller than me in my grade.
And I’m not allowed to eat Lunch at School.
And the masse of jewels grew.
Rubies, emeralds, and topaz-sapphire hues.
And the Ship of Women determined to leave with
Every Other Nightingale Bride’s Married-Men.
Committed to the Calling of the Void
When they were arrested
At the Bank of the River.
And the Captain,
Was a Woman.
And the whole crew,
Were the ones’ left behind.
Reunion Gathering in shambles,
And the lutes did whine
And the vary did carry-on
About hoe they didn’t deserve this demise.
‘We were supposed to get married!!!’
And 57 Women, jumped.
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