The Mayflower

by Anitha Ahmed

“Land ho!” says onlooker,

on his tall wooden mast,

standing quite uncomfortably

in a basket poorly cast.

Thing young’uns rush forth,

chilled and scrawny to the bone,

staring over the mighty Flower’s edge,

into a future quite unknown.

“We’re here at last!” cries captain,

a boom loud enough for all to hear,

and although froth poured into mugs,

they all drank but a tear.

Loaded onto many a small boat,

and rowed with all their might,

for in a steerage they had bunched and cramped,

for six months worth of night.

And captain majestically raised his flag

of Mother Country England,

and shoved through the crack of mighty Plymouth rock,

with the tenderest of hands.