The Dredge That Built America


She was a beautiful vessel all done up in white and blue.
Her shovels gleamed in the moonlight as her keel snapped in two.
Her smokestack, it sparked. Her whistle, it screamed.
Her rigging sang and to the bottom she steamed.
Nevermore to mine nor dredge,
on her quota, no bets would hedge.
Across the sparkling water so clear,
the magnificent machine was rarely held dear.

But to her captain and crew,
she was a reminder of things not new.
Things more valued than money or gold;
integrity, respect, or even a hand to hold.
And what happened on that fateful night?
When we lost something, once so full of might?
Let go we did, of values held in high esteems,
in favor of wants, sins, and false dreams.

And so we end this sad lonesome tail,
of an old dredge and a modern gale.
But on unclouded, calm nights you can see,
just the very top of her cranes knee.
Though rusted through and covered in growth,
Maybe one day, someone will keep their oath.
To raise her off that sandy submerged shore,
and give her a worthy purpose once more.

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