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voyage

The day was grey when we sailed away, on an Atlantic ocean wave
the sailors few , kinships anew,, the restless and the brave
the fog came down ,the mast ,was one of three
the engines slowed,, half ahead we heed, no mortal man could see!
sailors forard and abaft, with gongs to pinpoint position,
acutely listening for the sound, was their only mission
in this eerie dead of dawn ,,soundings are called by men
drop and measure ,call the tune, above plimsoll lines a pleasure
tonight , on deck, the tired weary and spent,
emigrating British birds , directionally unsent
thousands landed on the deck ,exhausted near to dying
fed and watered by sailors, their efforts, for want of trying
The English Channel has been the grave , for many of those in need
ships pass in the night ,the reckless , on some ,the fishes feed!

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