It was very trying
He thought, compressed
To be trapped lying
In a crate perhaps five feet abreast

It was awfully cold,
He thought, making do
the padding was old
and smelled strongly of mildew

It must be quite a gale,
He thought, feeling queasy
It was better than gaol,
though the swaying made him uneasy

It was annoying, however,
To have nothing to do
He had a letter from his lover
But she was not there to screw

She had convinced him
To get rid of his wife
While the task had been grim
His desire was worth more than her life

He had taken her sailing
An outing she would often demand
And to reward her failings
He made sure she did not return to land

It should have been straightforward
To restart life as a widower
But he was soon cornered
And he made a deal with a ship owner

It had cost him dearly
To ship him away
More than he made yearly
But worth it to finally escape

The storm was growing worse
He thought, his calm beginning to fail him
As he pressed upwards, he began to curse
The idiots had put real nails in

It was more than damp now,
He realised as he heard splashing
Then the grinding of the ship’s bow
And he knew they were crashing

He clawed and he hammered
But he was already entombed 
And no matter how loud he clamoured 
There was simply nothing to do

He now heard words he had tried to ignore
Which his wife had spoken, before the screams
"This is all I have ever wished for, 
For you and I to take a trip to the sea!" 

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