We scud away before the wind,
And leave the tropics far behind
With flowing sheet and pulling sail,
We dash along before the gale.
The hailstones sting me in the face
As up aloft I take my place
Along the weather topsail yard,
At weather earing with a pard.
We haul to windward with a song
And stretch the reef-band all along
And with a bull-wang turn belay,
Amid the howling storm and spray.
'Tis bitter cold, my hands are numb:
The frost would almost strike you dumb:
The sail is stiff and frozen hard,
As we secure it to the yard.
With reef-points frozen hard as Hell,
But what was that despairing yell?
The boy to leeward frozen cold
Had slipped away and lost his hold.
He lost his hold, and sore to tell,
Into the raging waters fell.
The night is dark, the storm is high,
And not a star in the sky.
We're running dead before it, too,
A pang of grief now strikes the crew;
For, in such case, we cannot save
Poor Hector from a watery grave.
He was my pal for many years,
And now I couldn't stay the tears
From running from my eyes so free,
But it was dark, and none could see.

Hello All,

I hope you all like this poem ...

Regards,
Suzi