Paul Vincent
Sailing seven ships of silver
Through the currents of God's liver.
The soft parade of Spanish Galleons
Carried gifts of golden stallions.
Their hard oak hulls were polished sleek
They'd round the horn in less a week.
El Sur would lead the valiant bunch
She'd sail the world in time for lunch.
Through the Straits of Magellan and
In the back door it was clear she'd
Stand at the Armada's core.
She rounded the cape on the first of July
And at pace so quick she'd learn to fly.
Sturdy triple pine masts rose to the occasion
From the Lord's almighty blessing with which
She was emblazoned.
So with her other six sisters and brothers
They'd sail God's liver under the covers.
Old man moon was out that night
The only reason why was simply for spite and
El Sur was the vessel of his dislike.
With a clash of thunder he slid back the clouds
And sealed the ship's fate from a natural shroud.
As the light was snuffed out like from
Candles so small the captain grew weary and
Started to call to the crow's-nest above like
A beacon of hope and the crew all had taken to
Their soaked linen ropes.
The wind was a witch and the rain had been
Stitched into their skin, where were they headed
To come back again?
Tossing and turning their souls were a-burning,
The captain was yearning and all of them learning
That death might arrive before they could dive
Into waters of pitch and the fear that had
Switched from starboard to port was the nest's
Last report.
Sailing seven ships of silver
Through the currents of God's liver.
The soft parade of Spanish Galleons
Carried gifts of golden stallions.
Their hard oak hulls were polished sleek
They'd round the horn in less a week.
Only six did make to dock
One was lost among the flock.
The good El Sur with pine masts three
Had found her place beneath the sea.
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