But now she rests slowly rotting away
abandoned to the high and low tide.
Some of her captains were God-fearing, some weren't,
no matter now - the waves she'll never ride again.
White Herons and other water birds perch on her stern
and bow; they are the only life on board.
Her port and starboard sides are no longer sturdy
and her past trips are known only to the Lord.
The March Queen rests silently where she was scuttled
after many years of service, now she is much too old.
In her time, thousands of voyages went to many
way-ports too many to be retold.
Written by George Edward Noe
<----> SEND THIS POEM TO A FRIEND! <---->