Lincoln Ross Colcord

The Westerlies

Cold winds, dead aft, and heavy running seas
That swung us onward faster than the breeze;
Bleak day, and lurid sunsets, and wild skies,
And lonesomeness that broods as the day dies.
Abandoned course, below the happy world;
A staggering ship, with upper canvas furled,
Flooded by crashing seas, day after day,
In the Roaring Forties, where the wind has its way.