The Storm's Rage

A brutal storm raged over the small bay,
lightening, thunder; flashing and cracking.
The moored, large and small, shattered in the fray,
like drunken sailors bobbing and smacking-

Secure the alcohol lamp for the night-
Prepare the rations pork n' beans and gin-
Tonight fury slaps its giant hand with might.
Board the doors and windows ... bury within.

Women and their children quake in the wake,
the tempest blowing across sea to land.
Grown men wining of their fate and own sake,
found by the mourning face down on the strand.

Land and home torn asunder in the fume,
alcohol poured on wounds to sobbing sounds.
Boats lifted on the wave thrown to their doom,
crying and whimpering from the black mounds.

Scudding and bruised by continual gales,
frightened and hiding at the sight of squalls.
"Man the tools, secure the bay, end the wails,
raise the break-wall," are the terrified calls.

Swallow the sea, the way of the bigots.
Keep waves from the bay, no time for rummy.
Skippers, deckhands, the commons, but not sots,
the benefit of all to be chummy-

A brutal storm raged over the small bay,
lightening, thunder, flashing and cracking.
The moored, large and small, healing gently sway,
smiling at the break-wall nothing lacking.