I can hear the smack of water,
Against our fragile wooden boat.
I can hear the violent sound of the waves,
Crashing on to the battered rocks.
I can feel the cool wind,
Messing up my hair.
I can feel the wet spray,
Freezing on my cheeks.
I can taste the sea air,
Sweeping up the fine mist.
I can taste my last meal,
Creeping up my throat.
I can see the land,
Not far from the Horizon.
I can see the stormy clouds,
Gathering way above us.
I can smell the salty sea,
Filtered through the clean air.
I can smell hungry fresh fish,
The fisherman’s latest catch.
