The winds blow coldly over the Amber
Waves;
The ship tosses its stately bow for its
crew to save.
Secure the cargo, bring the sails down,
Wait for the morn, pray we don't drown.
The battering, the beatings, the tossing
around-
Oh God! for the feel of the good solid
ground.
Faintly, heard from the depths, the sound of a Knocker;
Could it be Davey, preparing his Locker?
Lo and Behold! from out of the black,
there comes a faint hope, the clouds are
pushing it back-
Safely, on a steady course at last-
How soon, we forget the Hell, just passed.
By
Mary S. Hymel 10/24/ 1969
Copyright © 1969-2001
All rights reserved
DO NOT COPY
