Where Stern Follows Prow

By the church, fragments of psalms
Catch the air, too late to save
Remains of the humble fishing boat.
Upturned as the boats of Boanerges,
Sons of thunder to calm the water,
Black-prowed in retirement.
Slowly sinking into the reeds,
Once the local bobbing pride,
Solemn as the black-leathered Bible
Read aloud within the walls so close.
Sinking as the sands of time into the ditch,
Timbers warped and rotting in mildewed resignation.