So long ago the cold spume stung my face
Before the bowsprit as we plied the seas,
From Singapore onto the Hebrides,
Though now a ghost I no more can embrace
The raging storm, the iron battle mace.
I am invincible to such as these,
My hair unruffled by a midnight breeze
No more to feel my lover’s frilly lace.
Yet sometimes when the North East wind I hear
Run through the rigging on a Christmas Eve,
And on the decks the stir of living men,
My silver eyes will shed an icy tear,
It’s then my heart of vapor will believe
That this pale ghost may one day live again.
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Submission Name: Ghost in the Rigging
