Meduse

Writer's Cramp 17/7 - A sea shanty (It's meant to be)

In Eighteen Ten, the age of sail,
Meduse left port, under the tricolor,
'Gainst all odds, she did prevail,
When muskets flashed, and cannons roar'd.

Heave ho, me hearties, sing loud and clear,
Of stormy seas, and trials so dire,
Of Meduse's loss, and her sailors' fears,
We tell their tale, and raise a prayer.

But six years later, her fate turned cruel,
Foul winds blew, as a storm did rise,
She struck a reef, that broke her hull,
Drowning out her dying cries.

Heave ho, me hearties, sing loud and clear,
Of stormy seas, and trials so dire,
Of Meduse's loss, and her sailors' fears,
We tell their tale, and raise a prayer.

To a raft, the survivors clung,
The sun beat down, the nights were cold,
From their souls, all hope was wrung,
In the face of death, a few grew bold.

Thirteen days adrift on wooden planks,
Hunger drove them to desperate ranks,
A grim choice made 'neath merciless sky,
Some lived on, while most would die.

Heave ho, me hearties, sing loud and clear,
Of stormy seas, and trials so dire,
Of Meduse's loss, and her sailors' fears,
We tell their tale, and raise a prayer.

In Eighteen Ten, the age of sail,
Meduse left port, under the tricolor,
Against all odds, some did prevail,
Fifteen souls from hundred's funeral pyre.