I held a post upon a ship –
I worked as kitchen maid.
My duty was to feed the souls
Who on that vessel stayed.
To clear the tables of their hearts
When they were stacked with Fears,
And fill them with Hope’s Promises
While on this sea of tears.

To pour the warmth out from my heart
And brew a cup of Love.
Or stir the pot where Courage boiled
As it sat on my stove.
To roll the dough of Patience out
And cut it into squares.
In portions only large enough
That all of us could share.

With dedication, meek and mild,
Did I perform my tasks,
And no doubt made it past my lips –
No questions did I ask.
Until a day when darkened skies
Sent terror in our midst;
And caused the waves of Bitterness
To hammer our poor ship.

The stores of Hope and Love and Faith
All seemed to wilt and spoil.
No longer could I warm their souls,
Their hearts were worn with toil.
Try as I might to quell the fears
That my own spirit felt,
I could not keep from losing heart;
Therein my worries dwelt.

The crew was starved, their visage worn
I did not do my job.
With aching heart and worried mind
Did I sit down and sob.
Quietly did we go down, with
Neither fuss nor quarrel.
Without nutrition for their souls,
Could they see tomorrow?

Our tiny vessel, beaten down
From Ignorance and Strife,
Was lost forever, lost for good
Oh, what a loss of Life!
How much better it would have been
If I had just stayed home.
It was my fault The Friendship sank.
Yes. Mine, and mine alone.