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We're limping now. Floating / bobbing / sinking. Hydraulic leaks. Warning lights are blinking. Water-maker's gone. The bread has all gone stale. The new girl is on the edge. Looking rather pale.
The waves beneath crash to the side of us as if we were in war. Trying to break our defences down. Roaring trying to deathen us. I was sat there the chating around me became one vocie.
We sailed across in our little boats Each with a doorframe to keep us afloat And our jackets were lashed To our bodies for masts Play on, we go on White horses leapt and grabbed at our feet Dragging...
Denmark was behind her, a thin grey line on an ever-distant horizon. She looked back once and regretted it. That thin grey line held within itself everything she'd known, loved, and recently feared.