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Atlantic storms had taken the main mast For seven weeks we drifted helplessly Fresh water and food were running out fast There was talk below deck of mutiny. Hunger, boredom and thirst were taking grip As a boy I saw the dark side of men To keep order the captain used the whip I feared we would never see home again. A sailor on watch shouted "land ahoy" The wind picked up and drifted us along Crew were happy and were now full of joy Some sang the shanty, the wanderer's song. Captain Smith cried out "it is the Azores" The beautiful sight of its distant shores. Written on 19th June 2018
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