The Tempest's Flail
Epigraph:
When Sailors go to Sea,
and seek distant lands.
As every man Knows,
The Reaper's at Hand.
So, that's how it Goes
and that's how it stands.
When Sailors go to Sea,
And seek Distant lands.
On thirty-foot waves,
Now rides their plight.
The scraps of shorn sails,
By low lantern light.
Most steering Gone,
lost at last sight,
Would the ship founder,
or float through the night?
A tempest Hurricane,
was the battered ships Bane.
all souls' thoughts the same.
Would the shivering Timbers,
Capsize or slip under?
Which Sum would become,
Old Davey Jone's Plunder.
On thirty-foot waves,
Through crest and vale.
The old Salts knew Why,
When the unseasoned Paled.
The Tempest Flailed,
throughout the night.
They pumped and bailed,
for their Mortal Live's.
Then they went on,
in eighty knot flail
No rest or relent.
When the Tempest Assails.
The sinking ship survived,
with All soul's alive.
As the crew rigged Mast's,
Land Ho! A Sailor cried.
Thank God at Last,
Piped the Bo' Sun's blast.
Copyright © R J. Elless | Year Posted 2022
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