In the middle of the night,
When the moon was gone.

The gentle breeze caressed my face,
Pregnant with salt, cool to touch.

Fireflies glowing with all their might,
And lighting up barely nothing.

A boat slowly made its way to shore,
With nary a soul on board,
None that was still alive.

The hold though, was overflowing,
Food, wine, silks and fine leather,
Not to mention all the gold and silver.

Of value on the boat,
There was but one small thing,
A half written poem,
Discarded and abandoned on the floor.