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A Frenchie in trouble
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A Frenchie in Trouble
There’s a Frenchie in trouble
Off Margate head.
The message relayed from those who made
It back to shore beneath leadening skies.
Rescue required now before Frenchie’s demise.
How far out? Is the first note to judge
Far enough to warrant more than a nudge
Of good English seamanship from their island abode.
No more introspective chatter, enough has been told.
Now chance and charity is the Frenchie’s hope.
Away the braves go, away to the brine.
No wasted effort. No wasted time.
For our stalwart saviours to begin their game
Against unpredictable waters, its loud and clear.
Rescue the Frenchie afore the sea makes another claim.
The English Channel is no place to be
Unless you are mariners of mettle who can read
Hidden sandbanks, cross currents and more to the fore.
Face the thunder of water, a perilous sea.
Betwixt rescue and Frenchie, the moving mass between.
A vile day to be out and about.
Even upon a sleek crafted, powerful cat.
Jumping the waves, skewering the troughs.
Powering its path forward, carving the way.
For now, sighting the Frenchie is the only play.
Horizontal slats of rain strive to deceive the eye.
Siphoning spumes of spray from mountainous highs.
Through this cauldron, our dash of colour and hope ploughs on.
Every sense straining to perform and evoke
To the attendance of Frenchie whilst he can still cope.
The tumultuous fury of this channelled charade.
The endless torrent walls of water, falling heavy and hard
Seek to unnerve the steady but will never secure
The minds of our hero’s who will never allure
To lessen their grip or drop their zealous guard.
“I see the Frenchie” the shout goes out.
The masted tri-colour confirms no doubt
that the target of all endeavours is now in sight
Next comes the intensity of the rescue to seal
The positive state of success revealed.
The Channel at best is hard pressed to bluff.
A vast swathe of water by nature, vigorous and rough.
This surging divide between seagoing nations,
Yet joining the two great states by devout separation.
The decision now, is to which one to run.
Being nearer to their home, the die is cast.
Calais is the port that holds Frenchie’s past.
Belay the line, take up the slack.
Let no time be wasted in heading the smack
Back to the sanctuary of its home country France.
The sea offers no favours to sailors abroad.
From whence they come and where toward.
But those who live their lives upon the sea
Do so as brethren, strong together, as rightly should be.
Under the guidance of the good Lord above and as one family.
So, all arrive safely under a clearing sky.
The Channel now spent of its threatening might.
Calais port is cheering hoorah and alors bells chime.
Frenchie’s and their English saviours, arms entwined
Sway forward and onward to the welcoming clime.