55 Degrees North
Night watch came and a mariner named a wee one upon the deck, who stopeth one of two.
In hand, he held that fragile fowl carefully through the night that followed.
Dreams strike hard like blinding sparks, the ever-changing crew. The watchman woke and he do’th spoke, we found some wind anew!
Gusts find sails abrade like boxers in a match. Glanced blows fall upon the code, the helmsman she do’th catch.
And through the drifts, the Mariner sits upon the deck aglow. The Watchman finds the crew aligned, in passage he follows.
Hark he calls, fair wind do’th fall in silence upon the mast. He struck us with or’taking wings and now he sure must rest.
The crew alerts with sounding bursts that bird again appears. His life may cost ‘or deck he’s tossed, that short-winged albatross.
The good south wind still blew behind, but no sweet bird did follow. Nor any day for food or play. The shadowed watchman held no sorrow.