Down to verse (1618)

Fed’s Broadway CCXIV

Voided entry XVIII

Lost, as I am, 

To sit my spar,

I make my list,

Autist,

As digits come from far 

To point me,

Maimed,

Shamed,

On my little prow,

Somehow shunned from seas,

Once beauteous, wondrous,

Triton stormed, thunderous.

Adrift, a dead sun

Now defaces me,
Etches me an epitaph.