Tie down those mainplanks!
Up the downsail!
Scrub the aft-shaft!
Round the out-sinks!
Wind in the sails and off they went
out on a voyage blown by cloud vent.
The captain, the crew, the battlemen too,
the horses, the bards and the carts.

The captain was up at the front,
with sailors and all in his aft.

"Aye, it's a fine day for sailing,"
the captain proclaimed.
"You only say 'aye' when we're sailing,"
they complained.
"It's a sailor's thing," said the slave
as he bashed at his chains.
"Tighten his chains!" said the chainsman.

"Not to be a bother," approached the bearsman,
"But where are we going, exactly?"

The crew shifted awkwardly,
as the captain began.

"You see that point on the horizon?
That faint little spot on the sea?"

The bearsman agreed.
It was a small span.

"We're going eight yonders beyond it,
a quite noble task, you'd agree?"

The bearsman agreed with a gulp in his throat.
A wobbly knocking of knees.
His fingers all looped, like the lace of a shoe
and his eyes doubled over to threes.

Pressing onwards, the captain;
"And when we are there
at the gates of the sea, we'll-"

"Gates of the sea?" they inquired.

"Yes, gates of the sea, I just said that."
Said the captain, aghast-gasped, tired and respired.

The captain continued to illustrate the plan
with copious sketches and books.
And once he was clear on a list of all things
the crew exchanged worrisome looks.

"We're going to do...what?"

But this tale could go on
for twice as long
if we continued as meticulous as this.
Suffice it to say,
in more than one way,
That the captain was seeking a dish.

One so delightfully rare as it had
all the properties of any rift herb.
That once eaten so potent
no man has been beaten
by stomach acid, affliction, opponent.

And the taste!
Dear Gods the taste.
So delicious one could eat it for months, nay years!
And when the plate's bare, tears would soon follow.
But as a result of the wonderous herbs
the tears would be flavoured
and easily swallowed.

Many months passed as they sailed and they rowed,
The company of ships on that watery road.
The speck grew to an island
the island to speck
As they passed it and watched
melancholy from deck.

The seaserpents rolled
in the rollicking waves.
The galleons rowed
in the salty brine.

Until the time
where they arrived
at the gates of the sea.

Cut free the mainplanks!
Down the upsail!
Paint the aft-shaft!
Square the in-sinks!
Air in the maincraft, still they sat.
All of them starved and half as fat.
The captain, the crew, the battlemen too,
the horses, the bards and the carts.

"We're here!" They declared
in triumphant tone.
"About bloody time" they implored.
"Can we get off of this God-awful ship?"
Said the captain, as equally bored.

Ready the slowboats!
Collect the greenoars!
Untie the west-lard!
Upstart the east-lean!
Men in the lifeboats, all first mates.
Rowed their each to the great sea gates.
The captain, the crew, the battlemen too,
the horses, the bards and the carts.

Row-two-two, Row-two-two!
The captain and crew.
Row-three-three, Row-three-three!
The horses, the bards and the carts.

"Here we are at the gates!"
The captain persisted.
"I knew I was right! I said they existed!"

The crew all agreed
it was bloody good luck.
The stores were all ended,
all corks were unstuck.
And the smell of the dish
was tantalizing proof
The wonderful dish
was a wonderful truth!

"Steady the boats at the gate!"
cried the captain,
his hand on the gate
to prevent a tilt.

The smell of the dish wafted wonderfully close,
From the oven, through the gate, to the tips of their nose.

"Open the gates!"
cried the captain to crew.

The rich curried herbs, the delightful aroma!

"Captain, the gates!"

The succulent meats soused in peppery sauces!

"What is it?"

The sweetness, the savouries! The delicious warm spices!

"They're locked."

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Daedalan, in the year 523 AF.