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.