(The Old Islander Recalls)

"Don't dive for gold," I warned a sun-browned fool,
"You may find some briny secret where poseidons rule."
They heeded not and liquid bulges soon were gone.
Three tugs, I thought, paying out rope in the sun,
Meant invasion of the nether world was done.

The sun inched past the mast; I waited still --
Tanks are finite, not subject to Man's will,
And lungs, too, yet no signal could I feel,
As I watched the idly-spinning wheel.
From their lost waists the cords snaked 'round the creel.

There! the silent bell was tolled; the winch began
To wind them upward to the realm of Man;
It slowed -- the sea would not release its purchase on
The world above; below that placid ersatz-lawn
A root was stuck; I was to tug till dawn.

When at last the first corpse came in view,
It seemed my premonitions had come true.
For there, enshrined in kelp and webs, were two,
A bloated pair, turned all a gravestone's hue
But where the tridents had run them through.
Meade Frierson III
© 1971 by August Derleth.

First Appearance: The Arkham Collector, Summer 1971 (# 10)
First Online Appearance: Nightscapes #4

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