The Wreck
   
  Bubbles saucered from the divers, rising, tilting, past
  Ribs of an ancient sailing ship whose stunted broken masts
  Lay among the blackened rocks and reddish coral rose;
  Peaceful 'neath the stormy sea, majestic in repose.
   
  Who were the men who sailed the ship
  Whose hands had rung the bell
  Who braved the crash of thunder's flash
  What story could they tell.
   
  The questions ran from eye to eye
  The silence sounded clear
  Save for the hissed metallic lisp
  of divers breathing gear.
   
  And on they swam from rib to rib
  From stem to stern they moved
  Until they saw an anchors claw
  The ceaseless sea had grooved.
   
  Nearby a cannon's blinded eye
  Lay impotently, dead;
  The ocean's mud, turned hard to crud
  Replaced the carriage bed.
   
  And there above a sandy patch
  Protected from the tides
  The fishes gleamed in sunny beams
  With iridescent sides.
   
  The divers rose above the scene-
  The time to leave had come,
  Full fathom five twice multiplied
  They'd been and now 'twas done.
   
  For man is but sea's visitor
  Who cannot tarry lest
  His welcome's worn and life is torn
  Out of his puny chest.
   
  © 1998 Chris Hill
   
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