The Storm and the Prayer

Arr, twas indeed a night as the waves lashed the deck and the winds whipped the rigging like the strings of a demon’s fiddle

I stood on the bridge, foul weather gear streaming and me dead pipe clenched between me teeth trying to figure out nature’s riddle

Running before the gale five miles or more off the coast of Labrador on the cold iceberg corridor

Too far from the last safe port and the warmth of Corner Brook, God I wish we was back there once more

Lighting flashes and thunder like artillery blasts fill the wheelhouse with the anguished wrath of King Neptune’s displeasure

The skipper yells you know we seems to be taking too much water, better man the pumps if you don’t want to join Davy Jone’s treasure

A heavy list to port, and a hatchway flies off, put on your life jackets byes it may be time to start saying a prayer

Ready the life-boats, grab compass and charts, if we make it till sunrise, then the Coast Guard may make it here

Then a silence drew nigh, the waves rolled to mere ripples, the light on the shore, welcomed scared, frightened old seamen

We rounded the Cape and found the calm in the storm, drop anchor in safe haven, our prayer defeated the demon