Old Empress

Inside, in the half-light, the iron rot took hold.
Forgotten service–obsolete.
Salt-coin neglect.

The money flowed inland,
Moored on an hourglass choke.
No one told the sea.

Orange hull still bright,
Empress her name- cracked white letters,
leans on driftwood where the rails once were.
Salt wind gnaws old paint
one winter at a time — loyal watch keeper.

Fifty years it cut through any storm.
Now the roof sags —
a shroud to a queen.
Gulls cry, a ghost crew in the fret.

A quatrain left —
for this worn craft
tide,
sand, rust
and lament.

Martin Fisher is a debut poet, aged 65, with a working background spanning Africa and Europe. He is a professional gardener living in Sussex, where he enjoys cultivating his garden and restoring antiques, all while writing with his wife and two dogs, Eli and Juno. He can be found on X @mjfkipper and on Facebook @martin.fisher.148