We set sail last night following the moon, the palest light,
The Captain wrote, his hands compelled with life.
He dipped his pen inside the inkwell to write,
With the Blue Bird, oh! How I swell with pride.
Janice, my lover, if only you could witness the sea and its glory.
The gulls overhead, and the orange sun greeted us this morning.
A force rang throughout the ship that drug him from his notes.
He fell down onto the cabin floor; the ink slung on his coat.
His quartermaster ran in, “Sir, we’ve run onto the coast.”
The Captain gathered his bearings and ran out onto the deck.
Fog surrounded The Blue Bird. They could find no land out in this mess.
He leaned over the railing to see that a rock had cracked the hull.
Water rushed in rapidly, it seemed it halfway full
The ship began to sink, and The Captain listened at the gulls.
They were different now, they squawked a promise of grace.
All things drift when they’re lost in a haze.
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