The dark waves so hard and unrelenting
Move with this bow-less ship and
Somehow seem worse for the wear after
Men have reaped their fortunes and
Left their brides so bare and alone.
The widows paint their faces with the
Colors of fog and rain in winter
And come summer they will tell of the pain
That comes with the changing tides and
Changing lines that men decide to draw on maps.
How sweet the virgin with shapes springing
Forth and a color so deep beyond all eternity.
If left untouched men cannot live, but
The worst of things we do to ourselves.
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