The small boat begins to rock. 

Rocking, cradle like.

But sleep is far away now, 

else death be nearer.

Yet every blink is a holiday, 

while each escapes the rage of this tempest.

But now the rage spills over, 

drenching all it touches in fear.

Crashing down, it slams against your security.

This small boat, filling with doubt, while assuredly sinking.

With only arms for oars, 

a strong will be the only prospect for survival.

But this tempest is angry, and this current is strong, and this boat is small;

So as captain, will you go down with your ship?