I was walking along the beach at first light,
thankful to be alive after another hard night out on the icy black sea,
when I spied a leather sketchbook washed up by the surf.
It looked to have ridden the currents for many a mile,
its wet cover glistening in the morning sun.
Yet when I opened it, the sketches within were nigh untouched.
And the tale they told...
well...
it chills me even now to recall it...
thankful to be alive after another hard night out on the icy black sea,
when I spied a leather sketchbook washed up by the surf.
It looked to have ridden the currents for many a mile,
its wet cover glistening in the morning sun.
Yet when I opened it, the sketches within were nigh untouched.
And the tale they told...
well...
it chills me even now to recall it...
