A poem?
I came up with this in English while I was supposed to be taking notes. I only consider it a poem insofar as it rhymes. You judge it. I'm interested to see what you think.
A watchman stands upon a ship,
A pistol rests upon his hip,
He's on the deck on a cloudy morn;
His posture, straght; expression: forlorn.
His lover's who he's thinking of,
A true beauty from above.
He sees her within his mind's eye,
Her morose stare and passive sigh.
She haunts him in his dreams at night.
Her image follows a flash of light,
But disappears, as quick as it came,
And her face is never quite the same.
The expression remains as a photograph,
But the image changes from wheat to chaff
As creases appear on her once smooth face,
And a hobble conquers her former grace.
What a curiosity
Which befuddles our man at sea
To see his lover age one year
per every passing day
...His thought escapes and floats away...
A watchman stands upon a ship.
A pistol rests upon his hip.
He's on the deck on a cloudy morn,
His posture, straight; expression: forlorn.
40 fathoms below...