The Ship

The ship appears from the mist, gliding like a ghost. Soundless.

How will this ship shape our destiny?

It's floating closer, closer to this land as the wind bloats its sails.

The lifeless bow has become animated,
The jutting helm has become daunting.

We should have blocked its path.

Already the bearded men are unloading the cargo from the slimy depths.
They treat their load delicately.

I wonder what could be inside those plain-looking boxes?