The sun hung low where sea met sky
as ragged clouds raced 'cross its brow.
An angry wind whipped up the waves
which spat white spume against a scow.

Self-shackled to the bobbing stern,
a half-clad man swore at the sea.
He'd tied both rigging and a rope
around his leg up to the knee.

The storm had roared in from the east.
Soon breakers rose and crashed on rocks,
reformed their ranks, came rushing back
to thrash sand beaches, rip out docks.

Sheer walls of water rose, advanced,
climbed higher till no sky was seen,
bore down upon the tiny boat
as giant waves, ferocious, green.

While heeling radically at times,
she fought them off courageously.
Her hull rose up and dropped straight down,
and lunged again repeatedly.

This maelstrom-spawned malicious force
kept battering the small boat's keel.
When gunwales dipped, the seas spilled in.
A broken tiller, unmanned wheel.

At last the onslaught settled down
to rare wild rogues, then hump-like swells.
The man now prostrate but alert
had heard a distant buoy's bells.

When tossed about both fore and aft,
how much abuse can bodies take?
But bright eyes shone in bloodied face.
He had prevailed, refused to break.