Lang Lippened

by James Sinclair

I spy flesh towt he
wi da scraepe o taes on rock
sharpened his claws

Slippit at last,
wis dat wir left, waakend
ta  grey waater an shattered ice.
An da lift drawin doon wi dark clood.
A Norderly breeze shivved wis clear.
Da cowld wis slippin hits grip.
We moved aroond da daek in slow rikkity steps.
Nane o wis fit ta oag up da riggin.
So we raised whit sail we could,
wir feet planted apo da daek, strent spent.
An as da Diana brook clear
fae her anchor howld apo da ice
an cast aff da chains o imprisonment
we left da Davis Straights in wir wake
an ran fae da very jaws o Hell.