The sky was dark,
The waves were rough,
And the seas were angry.
The dock was empty,
Save for one.

The man sat staring,
Calculating.
Slowly stood up,
Smiling.
Laughing harshly.

He went inside
A desolate building.
Spoke to a face in blackness.
”I’ve made my decision.
I’ll take the job.”

“Are you sure?”
The shadows hissed back.
“The seas are angry, and
The waves might flip
The Clementine.”


“No tempest,
Vile as this one may be,”
The man spat out.
“None can best
The Clementine.”

He set out in the night,
While the breakers towered,
Higher than a man.
He set out, quiet as a shark,
In the Clementine.

As he motored out
In the quaint little Clementine,
The wind grew stronger,
And the gale blew harder,
Much harder.

Oh!
How the ship’s little engine roared!
How it screamed and groaned,
As it fought the storm
For control of the boat.


Oh!
How the man wrestled
With the black leather wheel,
Keeping the Clementine
On its course.

Oh!
How valiantly did they both fight
To keep the little dinghy afloat!
For the Clementine, with its thin hide of steel,
Was ill-prepared for this tempest.

His cargo screamed out jumbled Spanish,
Cursing the seas for creating such a storm,
Cursing the man for rocking the boat,
Cursing the seawater for being wet.
Cursing himself for coming out here.

Neither one noticed,
The massive log, thirty feet across,
Hurtling right at the hull of
The beautiful
Little Clementine.

The boat was hit,
Hit right on the side.
Both crew and cargo
Fell overboard,
Screaming.

The sky was dark,
The waves were rough,
And the seas were angry.
The dock was empty,
Save for none.