Tell No Tales . . .

She sailed out of the harbor, that fatefully warm, May night,
The skies were clear as crystal, and the stars, they shown so bright;
The sea was at a dead calm, and the last time that we knew,
Her condition was Bristol fashion, and her bering was dead on true.

One moment she existed, navigating along at a steady pace,
The next minute she just wasn't, simply gone without a trace;
No storms had been recorded, the weather had been more than fair,
Nothing seemed at all out of place, suddenly she just wasn't there.

No radio distress call was logged, no signal to give us a when,
Nothing to indicate anything amiss, where she'd gone or where she'd been;
Vanished into the moonlit night, with no explanation of any worth,
As far as anyone can fathom, she sailed right off the ends of the Earth.

An extensive search was conducted, on her course and all around,
But not a sign of debris was spotted, not a single clue was found;
When all was finished topside, they started looking down below,
And even unto this very day, apparently no one seems to know.

Where a sturdy maritime vessel, just sailing across open sea,
Could unexpectedly just disappear, from where it ought to be;
So take heed of this warning, if out of Bermuda you hoist your sails,
You can find yourself hopelessly lost, for the Triangle tells no tales.

Fox

© April 24, 2000