Redolent sunlight blessed the new heroes singing their shanty,

seawater buoyed them lightly on foam and on froth ‘neath the vessel,

heroes, there in the sea-spray righted cabals sailed the ocean,

made stars subordinate, mounted the night sky with prayer their astrolabe,

complines and vespers had floated beloved ships, fleet and the nation,

marrying celestial inscriptions, the mannequins made use of sextants.

There they did loft into heaven a homeland, steering with sextants,

so set to sleeping leviathans, dragons, with chopin-esque shanties,

so set to wandering eons-long, lonely, far from their nation,

so set to ergo and lo and the thus and the such on their vessel,

so set to conquering starlight through but the glass of an astrolabe,

so set to simplest of lying incantations, merely became then the ocean.

Quietly brave aboard just serenity, bloodless their ocean,

victim to silence’s near boredom, stilled stars stilled by the sextant,

winged constellations clipped, through the new dignified rondure of astrolabes,

lulled to a quietude warfare by just the swing of the song of the shanty,

merely the bubbles arose in the ship’s wake, gliding the vessel,

dare not deny peace storied hegemony o’er this, our nation.

Leagues away lack that license to pass new decrees on our nation!

years far missed any right to recoil, for it stays on the ocean-

locked within time’s ice, statues of stature, of men on their vessel,

who at mid night gazed innocent, stars jarred through a gold sextant,

played in sunlight and rejoiced at a continent’s noiseless new shanty,

finding a place, athenaeum to study new skies with their astrolabe.

Purest aphelion claimed naught, moving away with an astrolabe,

compass-less through gel, time forgets tyranny, only this nation,

sailor’s songs freed from sunlight’s nexus rode into spaces of shanty,

there by polaris became just a stranger to we, to the ocean,

orbiting so far nexus was merely an echo for sextants;

Argo, ignore Greek tragedy, ride this atrocity’s vessel.

Serpentine, bloodied by voyaging journeyers, our lovely vessel

calculates genocide, casts off Europe’s dusk tide with this astrolabe

raided from Henry’s arrangement, and made just like our mere sextant,

awfulness, feeling as history betrayed in arced manners this nation,

struck by epiphany spelled into bleeding wounds that mother ocean,

tearing apart stone likeness’, song dies ‘long the old shanty.

Vessels did carry the weight of the song of the undead shanty,

back when the astrolabe could not carry the weight of the ocean,

archives preserve rusted sextants, history’s weight on the nation.