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There is a shallow rock
on which its body lay,
bones, forgotten dust
posed in lifeless form.
Water could not hold
all that it had not given,
prized sail made sullen shroud
a heartfelt now companion.
Three men on foreign land
no longer do they cry,
eyes turned to starry gods,
unwavering faith now dead.
Three men whose names not called
bring tears to those but left,
homes where shattered lies
lovers in their bed.
The body now turns wreck
on that shallow rock,
wooden guts all spilled
from torn and broken umber.
Three men whose names unknown
lie peaceful on the shore
dream of far more pleasant tides
while birds their flesh devour.

Image by Daniel Lincoln
Shipwreck: Project
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