Storm

Eleven days, then I’ll be with you,
Before a fireplace warm,
But until I do, I’ll think of you,
In the fury of this storm.

Ten days more till I see the shore,
And you await for me,
But for now this sail, though torn and frail,
Will bring me across the sea.

Waves they crash the starboard side,
With nine days left to go,
And as time goes by, the storm still cries,
And the waves, in strength, they grow.

The eighth day here, the storm still near,
And the men would gather late,
No watery tomb, would be their doom,
They say as to foresee fate.

The seventh day, so far away,
No albatross in sight,
And the sailors near, to dread and fear,
For daylight seems as night.

Six days now, I wonder how,
This storm can last so long,
For if we’re lost, then what’s the cost,
To the women, the storm’s done wrong.

Day five along, the widow’s song,
Will sing for the men afloat,
For the waves like lead, drowned all men dead,
And below the sea, their boat.

Till the next life dear, when I’m with you near,
And we’ll sit before a fireplace warm,
But until we do, I’ll think of you,
In the fury of this storm.