It was another body,
Washed up,
On the rocks.
There are a number every year,
Coming in on the waves.
A fisherman by his garb.
You can’t tell anything
From his face,
Or extremities.
Food for fishes.
I put up two flags,
For assistance
And for death.
Some incoming boat
Will heave to,
And take the remains
To port.
I used the peavey,
To get him out of the water,
And rolled him in a tarpaulin,
And left him in the trench
I’ve dug
For just this reason.
Then I sang
“Nearer, My God, to Thee“,
Because,
What else can I do?
I wished Sister Darling
Was here,
To say proper prayers.
I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2022 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}
DE BA. UEL
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