There’s not a resolution passed beneath the gavel’s head;
There is no tale however true, no tribute, vote or plea;
There are no voices lifted up in which their praise is said,
That half do justice to the men who work the ships at sea.
No lens has caught the changing hues that tip the waves at dawn;
The grace of gulls on tilted wing has never yet been drawn;
No artist lives who wields a brush that can depict a-right
The fury of a typhoon trail or paint a “dirty” night.
No more can we, in printer’s ink, find pathos on the seas,
Nor can we feel the biting spray or see the tempest rage;
The sharpest pen that draws the sea but mocks its tragedies,
For human woes and tempests cannot reach the printed page.
(Burt Franklin Jenness)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Night Poems, Anger Poems, Praise Poems, Tragedy PoemsBased on Keywords: typhoon, wields, printer, depict, gavel, a-right