ALOFT

High aloft amid the rigging,
Where Great grandad used to go.
To fist the sails on wintry days,
While the ship would rock and roll.

High aloft out on a yardarm,
The gale whistles through the lines.
One hand for ship, and one for self,
As the temperature declines.

High aloft upon the mainmast.
Keeping watch for all below.
I remember well his stories,
Of the aching and the cold.

High aloft the watch was over,
In his bunk and fast asleep.
Great grandad had stood the watch,
Through dangers of the deep.

Ian Adrian Millar