by Timothy Reaves

Created on: January 27, 2010

Morning chased the frost away,

And everybody seemed okay.

Then freshest gale, and then a moan,

And suddenly we are alone - 

Adrift the icy current's take,

Despite the efforts that we make.

The compass gone and mast in twain - 

The heart's to bear the dim in pain.

Upon a broken drifting mast,

My friend, is where I saw you last - 

To the starboard, aye, the port.

I, sinking through the ice, contort.

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