CABIN BOY

Their car pulled up to the gas pump,
An old time store with faded front.
The man and his son filled-er up
Then entered the store in manner abrupt.

“Whoo! It’s chilly this Christmas eve.
Yep,” Said the man, “Too cold for me.
How about coffee and soda for us?
I hope it won’t be too much fuss.

The coffee’s right there on the stove,
I guess you came through old Rickets cove?
Yes we did as a matter of course.”
The man coughed, “I feel a bit hoarse.

“The town looks locked up for the night.
Yea, folks all tucked in pretty tight.
I dare say no one’s .out and about.
Just the dog, you, me and your sprout.

Well, not everyone I should say.
Who else have you two seen today?”
The boy chimed in with his little voice.
“We saw a parade, but wasn’t our choice.

Not a parade exactly I’d say.
More like a procession at Rickets bay.
A procession? The old man said.
“Not lightly here.”
As he took another swig of beer.

“I meant it was a procession or such,
Though we didn’t see all that much.
The figures seemed faint to our sight,
All walking with candles this very night.”

The old man turned away from the pair
And steadied himself on a near chair.
“No it can’t be, please not again,
Those damned sailors, ill-fated men.”

With no customers there
The old man with gray hair
Settled down by the stoves light.
The man and his son,
Tired from their run,
Fell silent to listen that night.

Large snow flakes floated gently down
To rest upon the barren ground.
The forlorn toll of a church bell
Chilled the night that it might tell

Each Christmas eve that sad refrain
Accompanies the snow the same
While there, above that dismal church
A bird of queer appearance perch.

It’s once smooth plumage turned to rough
And in it’s manner, vaguely gruff.
The golden pupils of it’s great eyes
Seemed to watch and criticize.

The head stones of the cemetery,
By which none should ever tarry,
Though stately at first random glance
And normal to their circumstance

Appeared to waver in ones sight,
Appeared to blend into the night
And there the moon, when faint and blue,
Tints the stars with ghostly hue.

Then the bird, a crow of yore,
Spit out the message that it bore.
“They shall pass this way again,
My cabin boy and ship of men!”

The faithful souls that there had died
Then wake from sleep to sure confide
To those who listen and. may hear
That Christmas once again is here.

Within the church for what they seek
They move as visions in retreat
And pause upon the cross of he
Who rules all life and mystery.

Those specters of the universe
Before his majesty rehearsed
The funeral of their cabin boy,
The young lad who had brought them joy.

The one who, on Christmas eve,
Had died and caused them all to grieve
The boy of such devoted soul,
The boy who paid life’s final toll.

The voyage had been a peaceful one,
Had weathered well beneath the sun
But in that place and time of year
Storms were a well founded fear.

A North Atlantic gale had broken
And forced their ship, the lady known
As Southern Cross, to swoon the tide
And bound to jagged rocks collide.

Those sailors on the mast were thrown
To cussing lives and broken bones
And still the gales crewel winds aloft
Whipped the seas into a froff.

The cabin boy though drenched in cold
And in a fashion, gamily bold,
Cut loose from davits masthead lines
And let the canvas there unwind.

Among the timbers splitting high
He moved beneath the angry sky
To further aid his true shipmates
As those who had survived relate.

Monstress waves then still lashed out
And heaved the good ship all about
But still the brave lad labored on
Half the night ‘til came the dawn.

Many shipmates he helped ashore
But Tim, again returned for more.
Then a riptide from nowhere
Grasped the vessel as she nare
Had any chance, their lady fair.

~*~*~*~

The ship receded from the rocks,

All hands yelled, “Jump Timmy Cox!”

But Timmy stood upon the deck

And waved farewell from sinking wreck.

Upon the mast the bird of night

Surveyed the boy’s burdened plight

As Timmy waved a last farewell

And bid his shipmates wish him well.

The bird, that bird, dread harbinger,

Still survives to well endure

So that on stormy Christmas eves

He may call these men to grieve.

To grieve for their cabin boy,

To wish him well and ship ahoy

Somewhere on this haunted sea

Beyond the sight of you and me.

The man and boy, held spellbound

By the old man of the town

Stood gazing with their mouths agape

After the tale he had relate.

The young lad in his shameless way Said,

“Dad, we saw them today.”

His father smiled and rubbed his head,

“Perhaps next time we’ll fly instead.”