High Tide at the Witching Hour

I sunk the ship,

Buried in the deep blue sea,

Held captive by the timber,

The cold soaked shanks.

Wailing to be heard,

To hear my unfortunate tale.

The curse of the ship

And the stormy weather,

High tide at the witching hour,

Crushed by slippery hands.

Submerged into the under current 

And swallowed entirely at once,

Rinsed of all sins.

© Ro

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