The water was rising, rising.
The air whistled, and the ship swallowed the water,
with a furious sputter.
What was that? The startling sound of a raging torrent?
Shouts and screams, frenzied mutterings.
A roaring cataract?
Were we sinking in some deep abyss?
Brains were shattered, thoughts confused.
Was this the end of the world?
We were drowning, drowning.
The water rose to the bunks
and stopped there.
Were we saved? Faces lit up, a light kindled.
Parched throats croaked, choking on their own saliva,
“A swig, a swig,
not of brandy or vodka,
but plain drinking water, please.”
Quivering hands groped for the pitcher,
brows creased in anticipation.
Ah, the ministering angel healed parched lips.
The lingering echoes of the fog horn were drowned
as the strings of an invisible mandolin
miraculously twanged and scattered a merry roulade.