Author's note: I don't usually rhyme or work in regular metre, because I'm not very good at it, but when the first line of this came to me, I thought I'd give it a go.
The ground no longer rocks beneath her feet
Without its salt, the winds seem stale and slow
And still the siren call, so wild and sweet
Is pulling in her heart and bids her go.
The timbers' groans, the cries of distant gulls
The shades of sea and storm and star and sky -
She drinks and fucks until the yearning dulls
From need to bitter ache, yet will not die.
The book is gone, the ship is hers, and yet
She stays; and says she has no course, no crew
No cargo worth the name. She knows her debt
Can't be repaid. If nothing else is true
She cannot follow where the compass sends
Her anchor's stuck in Kirkwall, made of friends.