Boast

Hear me now, who knowth not
The wrath of wind and wave.
I stand before you muddled sons of land,
A fearless spawn a proud descendant
Of the king of Absolutely, That brave
Mariner formerly of ten feet less,
Shall we say… Finkelsplatt.
Kneel now and you shall hear
The tale of that darkest night
And coldest rain that men may face.
It begins before the breaking dawn
When the sun has yet to light
Round the helm we sailors stood
Huddled ‘bout the fair, the favored
The lady in green, who graces the sleepless.
To our goddess of starbucks, that morn we prayed.
At the tenth hour we stood, ready for the gun.
Amidst the chaos we circled, calling out
“One minute! Goddamnit Charlie, hold your bow!”
At last the signal, and we were off.
Tantivy to left, a false tripp to the wind
Undaunted, close hauled we sped along.
But our fickle fiend, that cruel northerly
Changed the course. So sails changed
Amidst the crashing waves.
At last
The mark was in sight, a god forsaken spit
Of land that all good, all wise and prudent
Sailors avoid. To the island of Smith we laid our eyes.
But the sky had turned, and cast her fury at us
Frozen pellets stung our faces and sent even the fearless
The formerly undaunted hero of ten degrees below.
We called to our aid the heater and oven
Baking lasagna to keep moral high
But when the wind died we were left no choice.
Bold Meyer was brought, and bolstered spirits though the calm
As last the breeze returned and to finish we sped.
Returning to the dock in dark of night. In second
We stood. To slow by a fraction. Yet to this day
We are still thawing our bones from that dreaded,
That damned, Island of smith.