Deep in the mists of the dawn,
The harbor lay nestled,
High upon the hill she watched,
Searching for the vessel.

Three days hence, the wind had blown,
Three days hence, lightning had struck,
Three days hence, her heart had shook,
Three days hence, she had known.

Hoarse cries traveled over the cove,
The Herring gull taking wing,
Skimming the placid, empty waters,
Into the fog it went, vanishing.

Silence, was all that could be heard,
Silence, the only answer she received,
Silence, all to comfort as she grieved,
Silence, empty as her heart yearned.

From the shroud, it came,
Three masts emerged,
With nary a scrap of sail,
Forward they surged.

Veiled in gray, a bow appeared,
Her eyes strained to see,
Atop the forecastle, a man steered,
Far off to sea.

The man raised his hand,
As the ship sailed through the haze,
His eyes met hers, the fog thickening,
Never again to return her gaze.

The mist closed in as the gull alighted, the image fading away,
Her husband lost at sea once more,
Her desperate eyes turned to the master of the ocean,
It answered in a hoarse, dark voice,


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