Grey skies, grey bay - it’s a new day
It’s sirene: the wind has not been keen
In the flat vicinity the perspective is revealing of a truth
Two tripartite wooden polls, erect in effect
Amidst a sea of matter they stand
But in their sight, comes the plight
An endowed vessel, strong, firm, and better
The poles are no longer as such
They enjoy new company, a bit much
In their disparate perspectives, the poles grow apart
Firmed in place, a coldness flourishes
One that for the future nourishes
