My grandfather gave me a ship in a bottle,

Shortly before he died.

It sits center stage on the desk in my room,

A source of joy and pride.

I look at the bottle late at night,

When all the world’s asleep.

I think of the ship endlessly sailing,

Across the briny deep.

The flags endlessly snapping

In unfelt winds and gales,

Lonely sailors endlessly waiting

For ne’er arriving hails.

Yet, for all the appearance of movement,

It is eerily frozen in time.

Like a ship poised on top of a monstrous wave,

It had long struggled to climb.

I imagine it vanishing over that crest

And fine a comfort of sorts…

Grandpa’s not lost beyond the horizon,

He’s finally arrived safe at home port.