FEBRUARY FIGHT IN THE NORTH ATLANTIC
Turning home with her hold half full,
Wind picks up - raging, all the more
Fierce in its intent to smash her hull
And plunge her deep to the seafloor.
Murderous mountains of watery salt
Filled with cold hatred inside
In their drenching ice-bound assault
Make kamikaze charges along our side.
Snapping rime-heavy shrouds
Tumbling the boat in the chill peril;
Overflowing scuppers foaming in anger loud,
As, engine screaming, she regains her keel.