Forty Fathoms Deep

In forgotten sea, some forty fathoms deep,
while restless sea birds laugh and fill the sky,
she now lies in undisturbed and quiet sleep
silent, unable to reply.

Will she hear their call and breach the waves
this empty, twisted, shattered hull?
Can this skeleton of battered masts and staves
once more race with laughing gull?

Oh, to boast a frothy wake in tow
and hear the rush and snap of quickening sail,
or is she doomed to frosty depths below
to lie inert, broken, spirit frail?

Would that dreams were privy to replace
ingredients that mold her destined goal
so that, once again, the ancient paths she'd trace
restoring life and dignity to shattered soul.