It has an Ozymandias like air
Glued and fretted, twined
And tacked, sails worked
With glorious half-erased
Paint subject to the wear and
Tear of compassionate time.
Perhaps an overzealous hand
Wanting to restore leather to
Youthful beauties scrubbed away
More than grime. Look
Upon my works ye mighty.
There is no despair though
In the sturdy Dutch clog that
Is the ship, stayed on its keel
Bound with steel, staved-off
Disrepair. The seas it rests on,
Patterned velvet bordered
By the same hand perhaps
The roses still pink, if a trifle
Threadbare, bedrocked on
An antique desk.
The magnifying glass sits,
It’s half-globe of ocean coloured
Glass gentle, pacific,
The turtle moving the world
Through time. It’s small eyes
Blind.
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