The Winston Churchill Poem by Karen BryceWerder

The night was black,
The sea was green,
The moon hung shimmering in-between,
The dark green depths threw back the light,
Reflected off great sails of white.

The ship it pranced, and strained and danced,
Across the crest of waves it lanced,
Unchecked by figures true and straight,
A line along the side of fate.

A thunderbolt, a greedy sky, darkened by an ancient sigh
of sailors past, whose souls were lost
They called - the wind echoed, the ship came round,
She shuddered through great hills of foam,
Bucked and plummeted to depths unknown,
Twisted and turned to rid the load
of sea and man, and wind and goal,
Screamed through timbers and staining frame,
Cursed and bridled she rolled in pain.

A mother's moan for child at sea,
whispered through knowing, rose softly,
with other souls, two lost and then three.

Tossed and shivering the sails lay still,
on dark mountains moving with the will,
of forces more powerful - of nature's kill.