Mother Anne

The waves crashed, a foam of white,

Slowly whisking into bright light

A body of complexion fare,

A beauty with an astral stare

Her body rested upon moist sand,

A man with a wrinkled hand

Covered her with salted weed

Doing unto her a most horrid deed

When the man was through,

He threw her back into the blue

Cursing her life from after death

And found no guilt with his every breath

But deep inside the woman’s womb

Lied a child within a fleshly tomb

Who harbored hate for this old man

For tainting his dear Mother Anne

Beneath the Deep’s tender swell

Broke free the youth of his natal cell,

And waited until the man’s return

For his death did he ever so yearn

A year had passed, the child did wait

Until the man had come only to ate

The salted weed caressed his leg

And shattered it like a lonely egg

The child feasted upon the broken leg

The old man, his life, did he pitifully beg

But with the face of Anne, the elder knew

He was to be dragged into the Deep Blue

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