The Phantom Ship

To the measured beat
Of the rolling deep,
To the sound of the lashing foam,
And the seagull's cry,
'Neath the sad grey sky,
The Phantom Ship came home.
The rhythmic tread
Of the feet of the dead,
Paced its deck of sombre grey.
Alone in the cabin upon his bed,
The ghost of the Captain lay.
On the deck below
Perched the ghost of a crow,
Cawing most eerily;
His black wings fluttered,
His harsh voice muttered,
His head drooped drearily.
The sound of moans.
And the rattle of bones,
Drifted out of the gloom,
The booming of guns
And the beating of drums,
Sounded the ghosts’ high-noon.
And all through the night
'Twas a curious sight
To see this ghostly crew;
But when it was day
They faded away
And were gradually lost to view.

—D. Reviers (14 years).