She wanders the shoreline, crusted with salt
the kelp tangled up in her hair;
She\'s frigid with rage and searching for fault
playing pawn-chess with death and despair.
One hundred years have withered and gone
since the storm dashed her ship on the rocks;
and still her bones lie on the sea\'s tangled lawn
the crabs making nests in her locks.
Her relief never comes, her soul marches on
Consumed and reborn with each flood;
And as she fades away with the dawn of each day
she mourns for her lost flesh and blood.