blow wind come wrack

in the mind there are grey waters
restless cloud-covered visibly cold
beneath the sea-king's evil daughters
wait for those who'll never be old
down in the dark wait all the ages
those who adventured but did not return
those whose names are not on the pages
the ones for whom no incense would burn
no text or plaque their names recalls
none who remember them dare to speak
the lowering cloud the atmosphere palls
we who remain find ourselves too weak
the fish that's caught into our hands may bring
only itself or perhaps a golden ring