Along an English beach she came at hand. Fair maiden in a decade’s mourning gloom. Then spied she did, a bottle on the sand. A note—no doubt the author in his tomb:
“To fight for King and Queen, my duty called. A frigate bound for colonies who’d strayed. My eyes took in its regal masts, enthralled. Soon cramped into its bowels I was laid. Fortnight we sailed, then foundered in a storm. One hundred men did jump into the sea. And one by one, the bodies did not warm. Alas! ‘Tis now just wind, and air, and me.
“I brought with me these things to write to you. To spare a flickered light of our romance. Then swam until my lips and limbs turned blue. Until I glimpsed this spot of land at chance. Half-dead I crawled upon the barren shore. The rags upon my frame soaked through and through.
“One withered tree and truly nothing more. Survival for three days, or maybe two. This letter to Nadine, (my only love), I kiss with weathered lips, and pray you find. That Providence might fall from heights above. To guide an angel’s voice you’d hear so kind. I pause to glimpse the paling northern sky. Your smile amid those clouds so soft and pure. A calming sight before I sleep and die. Eternal dream comes near, my end is sure. One wish I have for you, my sweet Nadine. Please smile again, and love despite my death. Should Providence prevail, these words doth seen. You’ll know I swore it true with final breath. America I sought, instead this came—a spot of land where life is barely known. It matters not, my bones will bleach the same.
“Beneath the orb, millennia has shone. I’ll place my words into this bottle neat. And push the cork as far as it will go. Then hurl toward waves so I should not repeat. A final ‘I love you,’ my smile a-glow. Before I pass and sleep forever more, I beg a final prayer for God to hear. Nadine Hemsfield, my fiancée before. Please wed me now, your Aaron Devonshear.”
The maiden fell upon the sand and wept. Her face in hands that trembled not in grief. True promises don’t die, they’re always kept, t’ween lovers whom no crypt may gain relief.
She kissed the withered page with love that grew. Then screamed into the wind, “I do! I do!”
