Unnamed poem

The tattered sails are whispering softly
As the wind caresses the silent form
Of a ship, no longer tossing roughly
On the savage seas of a winter storm.

Silence reigns on the upper deck,
The forms lying there are damp and still.
And the sky is weeping on the ghost of the wreck,
While the cries of the gulls are sharp and shrill.

The ship is shrouded in fog and mists,
While the wind is wailing the song of death
And the waves are as tender as a final kiss
As the ship is gasping its final breath.

At last the victory is the sea's
And the vessel with its crew of the young and the brave
Begins to feel the last of the breeze
As it sinks down to the depths of its watery grave.

Far away, on a distant shore,
A young girl stands, and waits, and longs;
To see the boy who nevermore
Will dance with her to the fiddler's songs.

While the wind is whispering along the sands
She is waiting still upon the shore.
Time is passing, but still she stands,
Doomed to wait forevermore.