The crest of the waves, furious, they rise
To the glittering stars, to the arch of the skies.
Some ships sail into the safety of the bay,
With small, feathery masts-
When seen from far away.
From the valley of Neptune
Comes the blasts
Of briny winds
From the north where Thor
Batters the prows and the sands of the shore,
As Artemis ascends with a merciless moon.
These are the nights when captains clasp every wheel,
Calling to their hands, their rain-soaked sailors,
To avoid stern and port where the wild currents reel.
All are called to deck, all sea-loving whalers.
And Poseidon laughs with spite
As some heroes in their height
Are cast into the swallowing blue,
Forever to sleep beneath the waves,
Forever to sweetly slumber
Beyond the realm of watery graves.
And soon we shall be of their number,
The likes of me and you.
~ John Lars Zwerenz
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