Woe is the fate of that fishermen staring out from the harbour.
Scruffy beard stubbed over the face, a face crinkled of old age, tan in color.
Fading black eyes wandering flit watching the boats and floats as they pass along the waters surrounding the cape.
He stood over the sea, towering over unflinchingly, a sight to behold for modern popes.
The wind blowing his untucked shirt like a flag.
Once, he was someone who bravely sailed the seas and found there a home amongst the vast expanse of blue.
A friend to call and return back whenever he felt alone.
Loyal is the sea that she would always be there to console him.
Now, death has sent their greetings, politely extending their hand to the poor old bastard fishermen.