Wicked Folly At My Back

Morning calls with a sickening frown wicked folly at my back, sea gulls softly wail circling bout my weathered ship, circling, circling round hunting for their daily food, living without care, powerfully dive then quickly rise above September's cloudy veil. Then like lightening from the sky I see her coming down; her skin is white, her eyes are pale, her beauty cold as death; waves in madness flee her wrath in frenzied swirls are spent, her voice thunders from above a demon in despair, in an act of desperate love I lift her bridal veil. September's mighty winds rise against me borne by blackened clouds godless as the deep, the horn of winter blows impatiently stealing from the water the summer's heat. Hurricane's decry as the ocean weeps, I am in the forefront of their wails. Rank and accomplishment whom do they please tributes to kings who grow tired and weak their wood ships tossed about in the gales. September winds blow! I lash tight the sails.