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A month later they found you, alone.
No violence upon you, silent and desolate;
Your abandonment, unreasoning.
Terrified, they passed you around:
17 men in 13 years-
The oldest profession for your kind,
The Amazon type (if you know what I mean).
You were ruined by the last,
A greedy fraud and conman,
Left for dead for 100 years and more.
They found your bones in the water where he left them,
Hard and cold and rotting.

If you only had talked to your rescuers,
David Morehouse and his faithful Dei Gratia,
You could have been better used.
You could have been a rescuer.
You could have been proud for years.
But when you died,
You would have been dead forever.
Haughty death claims all,
But your haughty life keeps your spirit in the world;
None, perhaps, may ever be allowed to forget.
Prompted: something that happened in 1872. The Mary Celeste sailed on November 5th and was found deserted with no signs of struggle on December 4th/5th (the dispute there is because of time zones or some nonsense).
Not a little trite, but there you go.

It was either this or Yellowstone, so count your blessings, Ivy.
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January 13, 2012
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