The Sailor's Vice Poem by Philip Whan

Lost lay the Ironbreath, frozen on the ice,
Creaking and groaning, filled with vice,
For her back lay riddled with lost greed,
So much glutton did she feed,
Her mast still holding, tall with pride,
(Just like she was - when in Stride) ,
Her Stern was filled with an ambitious envy,
Bigger still than her levy,
And with Wrath as her ram, many did she sink,
All too little did she stop to think,
Fore all was lost on that frozen land.
More so, perhaps, then the King's Right Hand.
Lost lay the Ironbreath, frozen on the ice,
Creaking and groaning, filled with vice.