fishes tears

Clarkwood, Acacia wood, and Tarradale
and their hard working crew
an area searched in a bitter gale
but lost without a clue

no flotsam on the rolling sea
no debris or slick of oil
no route or course to foresee
to assist the searchers toil

all the sea is just fishes tears
the land is barren grief
fish must be caught for hungry heirs
too proud for poor relief

just one more time to cast the net
catch all before the storm
one last time to easy the debt
that a good haul can transform

on the land the grieving stand
under a promenade canopy
there are no wooden casks to touch
just flowers thrown on the sea