An old man sits in an old wooden boat.
His vessel fills slowly, struggling to float.
He wrestles the trespassing water,
As once did his father and his father's father.
Soon the sea swells bringing its salt.
He tries, he fails to defend the assault.
His raft defeated, sinks to the depths.
Spirit now depleted, he takes his final breaths.
He lay weightless,
His soul ship-less,
His mighty hull now hallowed,
His heart soon too will follow.
Waves soften but still beckon,
Him towards a grave upon his ships wrecking.
Pulled now into the deep,
His father’s legacy is his to keep.
An ever-sung melody,
Passed down indefinitely,
Preserved in a salty cocoon.
Still fearless of his dark blue doom,
For long he’s known what his sinking will bring.
His song is now his son’s to sing.