The hearth.

Girl Friday sailed into his world alone 

and departed on a blueprinted sliding Scale 

having Plundered the captains hearth of graceful

Looting of the flaming daggers and staves with

Dogs Dancing on the chequered decks.


The burning Ship with all day songs 

of regrets Falling in parchments embers 


without a felled tree left in this the ocean 

We now find ourselves certainly cast adrift in 

this Mess of love that never lost its meaning 

Last found within historic vale and its passionless kiss.