The Wreck Of The Hystericus, Page 2 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

“Oh, ‘Pops, ’ I see an approaching light
Oh say, what can it be? ”
But the Cap’n answered not a word
A frozen Pops-sicle was he.

And now the ship was on the rocks,
And now was rent asunder;
And now the waves crashed on the shore,
Echoing the wild storm’s thunder.

With lanterns high, the scavengers
Scoured that rocky shore;
Grabbing the bobbing flotsam,
Floating inland by the score.

And there a startled old man saw,
And others stood aghast,
To see a beauty on the beach,
Tied to a broken mast.

Shiv'ring with cold, the girl, she wept,
her clothes torn by the sea;
“Oh thank you, Sirs, untie these ropes,
Thanks loads for saving me.”

“We won’t untie those ropes quite yet, ”
Said he with the leering glance,
“This ain’t yer lucky day, my girl, ”
As the scavengers dropped their pants.

Copyright (C) 2004, by John Bliven Morin,
writing as Blithian