Craven fools were we that thought
To bid fair Clementine farewell
And leave her ‘neath the rolling seas
Forever lost and wondering ‘tween the murky waves.

No sailor-man was she,
That should deserve a watery grave
Yet still, mayhap, a weeded necklace offers her
Adornment plenty for the while,
Till to the dark her body sinks,
And nevermore is seen by light
Of sun, whose rays shine not into the depths
Of the grottos in the sea,
Enclosed by weed and rock and reef
That protect the dark within.

For when the opaque water claims her,
No longer will she be known as Clementine,
Nor will she be forgotten,
But will have become some nameless corpse,
Drifting aimlessly,
A common feature to those few creatures
Who dare to inhabit the shadowy dark.

‘Twas not a fate we wished upon her,
For her death was premature,
And had we not the need for speed,
Left her to be engulfed we never would.
Yet chased we were,
And so we fled,

Away from that most ill-cursed place
Departing with the swiftness of the cooling wind
Forsaking sweet Clementine forevermore
To linger not upon the Earth
But sway in sorrow
Surrounded by the swirling seaweed
Encumbered by the weight of the sea.

Farewell, oh fairest Clementine!