Two ships, moored on Seventh Bay,
In her harbor, haunted by stormy gales,
There they weathered the tempestuous affray,
For nights of unending assails.
But Fate was kind in a form of a mana,
And others of like discernment,
The ships they tended not with inadvertent hands,
But fain acts of endearment.
Then on the eve of May 18b,
When the moon was only half-lit,
And past the feast of pralines and tureensc,
A ship bade farewell — her ropes the man unbitt.
It will be another half-moon, I was told,
When the last ship’s cables from the bollard will be hewn,
And no matter how firmly onto herd we hold,
She will sail away early June.
And so will the quay of Seventh Bay
Once again, for a time, will be empty,
Until seasons change — to nights from days,
May arrive a ship named Cindy.
bMay 18, 2017
cWe had a little farewell feast for her
dReferring really to the two ships