Sacred Boat by Anonymous
- Mar 11
- 1 min read
Brown and rotting,
worn out and old,
the boat that sits on the shore.
No one touches it.
Everyone admires it.
There is no rope,
keeping people from climbing.
There is no plaque to tell the story.
It is just known.
That’s why it’s sacred.
Brown and rotting,
worn out and old,
pieces of gold still stuck in the sail.
A stench minded by many.
There is no rope,
keeping people from climbing.
There is no plaque to tell the story.
It is just known.
That’s why it’s sacred.
Brown, old, rotting and worn,
Cassandra.