Beyond western hills that fiery core,
Disappears once more;
Its golden sword to the heart of me,
Glitters on a placid sea.
Like an arrow to where I stand,
On basalt outcrop from the land,
Where a Spanish ship, proud and tall,
Fell victim to the storm and squall.
Majestic Galleon of a foreign clime,
Fought the tempest in that time;
Riding the waves, it searched for lee,
On the unknown cruel sea.
Captain and Sailors, stalwart crew,
Also there, Soldiers too;
Clung to that mighty ship of oak,
As the planking gave and broke.
Cannon and debris along the shore,
Scattered on the sandy floor;
Broken spars and coils of rope,
Floating there, offered hope.
That ship is here, beneath the wave,
And those men; this their grave;
Oh! Sword of light o’er fickle sea,
Guard them here for eternity.
Monty Alexander 23.11.97