Lilypads

Of all the greatness writ by men,
And of the way and sway of pen.
Of all the parchment left to dust,
And of all the musty left to must,
A tale was wrought by one so bold
To speak of one forever old.

By firelight in homely hearth,
Wrapped in a shawl was aged Garth.
A sailor who fell in love with land,
When the mighty ocean claimed his hand.

He stared into the dancing flame
And recalled with ever gripping shame,
How as a captain he was bent,
And for it to an island sent.

As he watched his ship set stern and sail
Through curses thrown like bitter hail,
Marooned Garth laid his soul to bare,
And vowed to die with one last prayer.

“I give my land and all my gold,
Give all my heart and wealth untold,
To him that ever is so bold,
To deliver me from lonesome cold.

“And to those that came and took my best,
With unclean hearts locked in their chest,
May something rise in the horrid deep,
To claim your children and your sleep.”

No sooner had the words been spoke,
When the calmly rolling ocean broke.
A beast almost twelve galleons high,
With mug in hand reached to the sky.

From the sun flowed forth a jet of gold,
To fill his glass with spirits bold.
With a hundred-hundred mouths he drank,
And tossed the stein ‘pon distant bank.

Its saucer eyes were polished night,
And to every man who saw his sight,
Let loose their bowels in epic shite.
And pleaded for their gruesome plight.

As waves lashed high against the shore,
Garth stood alone and begged for more.
“Let loose it all, I’ve prayed thee well,
They wanted Heaven, give them Hell!”