Nearly home were we, when squalls lashed our Maybelle.

Waves ten fathoms tall, envoys of sea’s anger,

Struck relentlessly, determined to doom her,

Along with her crew, to a cold and dark hell.

Brine swept me away, during one mighty swell,

And I was left soon, alone in the water.

In moments despaired, my thoughts did far wander,

To warmth, love, and home, far from cold and dark hell.

Scent of fresh flowers. Sun’s warmth in the morning.

Glimpses of those days, are all I can gather.

The nurse, when I woke, allayed my confusion:

“Fishermen found you, on-shore, barely breathing.”

A distant crier cried, “In today’s newspaper!

Maybelle sunk by storm; all hands were lost save one.”