"Destiny's" Nervous Sleep....
A barnacle encrusted hull lies almost submerged;
The white paint has peeled away
And the timeless timbers decay.
Broken ribs jut out from the dark Grand Lake waters,
Splintered planks hang in abandoned way.
The glass is gone from the wheel house-
Bayou darkness looks out through the cracked frames...
Breaking apart while at rest on the soft mud bottom,
The stern is consumed by the shallow depth.
The starboard deck sags under its dead weight;
Dry-rot lines, parted lines, green-slimy lines
Lie about the hulk- their services rendered no more.
Weeds collect around the withering bow.
Held to the weathered cabin by the lower hinge
is the cracked companion way door.
A fishing net hangs over the port side near mid-ship;
A winch on the fore-deck is but rust.
She lists to starboard....gaping holes,
And we see the death inside-
the rancid odor of decay scorches our senses.
But the water moccasin awaits.