Gladiators upon spume white steeds,
Tridents gripped, prepared for
deeds,
Galloping over saline & brine
iced waves,
Neptune, summoning his salted
knaves,
His conch breasted maidens lie
in wait,
For brine rinsed appetites to
duly sate,
The crashing roars of Gods mighty
voices,
Stallions of oceans are spoilt
for choices,
While all below, echoes with
thudding,
Lying still, beneath white horses
scudding.
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