On board our ship
in my casual uniform,
we were at Sea,
heading into a storm.
A Typhoon was forming,
South of Japan.
We were well South
of the course of the storm.
We entered white water;
the ship began to bounce.
The bow rose in the air,
and crashed back down,
for we were steering the course,
heading into the fray.
Standing at the bottom
of the ladder or stair,
you hung on to the rail;
up the ladder, in one bound,
as the bow rose.
A thrill at that time,
for all, I suppose.
A Comment by Loy

Great story and poem.
A Comment by MFish

Thank you, once again.