You don’t see it often,

(And you don’t want to).

The water along the rocks

Is splashing up as ice

On this frigid, frigid day.

Paw, my cat/kitten

Black as the ice

Sometimes can be,

With one white mitten,

Does not cease in his complaints.

I’ve brought him with me

In his cage,


On his own

He would be blown away.

He doesn’t realize that.

We cower on the shore,

And look out to sea.

We spy a ship

With its sails down

And a white aura

Enveloping her.

A snow squall perhaps,


Perhaps something else

As you can only see

Out at sea.

And, to appease the cat/kitten,

To calm him down,

(As well as myself)

I sing some Wagner,

Belt it out against the wind.

“That storm it wants a battle
And it’s sure that we’re outgunned!
That ghostly ship is hunting us
It’s bringing on the gale!
She’s called the Flying Dutchman
And it’s rage that fills her sails!”

And – indeed – it does us some good.

And then,

We high tail it

Back to the shelter

Of home.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report