She sat beneath the Devil's Moon,
a pirate ship at rest
while in a dinghy's wave-swept bow
there lay a gold-filled chest.

Two men rowed hard against the swells
that tumbled into shore
while Captain Kidd morosely cursed
above the wild surf's roar.

As tide withdrew, they beached the boat
then trudged across the sand
up giant dunes and finally to
a forlorn strip of land.

Kidd looked around the sand-locked swale,
and nodded at his crew.
"Ain't much for looks, but that is good.
This place will surely do."

"Now, mates, ye dig a pit," he snarled,
"and make it plenty deep."
It took all night, but t'was done right,
each wall head tall and steep.

From up above Kidd grinned at them
and pushed the treasure in.
It bounced off one man's bloody head
into the other's chin.

Kidd pulled two muskets from his sash
and scoffed at frantic cries,
then fired at each man's lifted face,
shot both between the eyes.

Kidd laughed aloud and filled the pit
with no remorse or guilt.
He left that site alone that day
awash with sand and silt.

Since Kidd did not return for it,
what happened to this loot?
His booty lies with bones of men
long dead, forever mute.