Some tell tall tales of treasures found
    On Cape Cod's weather shore,
Where northeast gales sweep in from sea
    With rain, and sleet, and more.
Dredged up from depths, where storms defile
    The graves of long ago,
And bring again, to living men,
    What ghosts think we should know.

And after, when the thirsty sun
    Leaves sand both dry and light,
Then sometimes, by a wind-scrubbed moon,
    The dunes will walk at night,
To let the edge of day expose
    Momentos of the past,
The coins and swords, ship's ribs and boards,
    And sailors, home at last.

But one September hurricane
    Brought stranger things ashore...
A Viking ship, complete with crew,
    Each man chained to his oar,
While at the tiller, one whose skull
    Beneath green weed and slime,
Still held a share of ebony hair,
    Untouched by passing time.

Now, all who've read of Vikings know
    Their hair was red or gold,
And every place their longboats touched
    They butchered young and old.
Yet here, beneath an autumn sun,
    On Cape Cod's time-washed sand,
A dragonship, its final trip
    With native in command.

Original illustration by Jeremy Boudreau, 1995

Poem published in EarthSongs
A Journal by Those Who Love the Earth
Volume 3, 1995.