In
Her Country, On Her Seas
When
the ship sails into seas navigable only
by adherents of the Goddess,
When
the waves dance and rear like the equines they have become,
And
profane speech becomes dissonant music that burns the ear,
And
the senses of smell and taste cannot be trusted,
So
that we never eat when we’re in that place,
Then
the hooded priestess emerges from her cabin
armed with a fuming censer and drawls:
“Let’s
talk about that offering again, Captain”
And
you know it’s
going to be a bad one.
This is one I wrote a long time ago. I think it was published somewhere before, but I don't have the records from that time accessible to me.
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