Gnarled hands grip hempen fibre, / |
the call goes out: the winds do bluster. / |
Crew reel and tug and wrench in effort to muster, |
the boon of speed, of heaven's storms that do not cumber.--
Now as the ship moves onward, at a pace ever faster, | |
The mates climb the rigging to avoid disaster, |0 | | |
Swaggering in step with ships camber. |0 |---------C--
Cresting waves pour over rear deck in cluster, |0 | | | v
the wind's tumultuous eddies cause sails to fluster. | |
At its height the foamy hills do make the sailors quite unsober!
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Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 581 AF.