Bent over the side-rails
I see him in the lush moonlight.
Is he suffering, as I once suffered
from the bouncing wave sickness
or is he reveling, as would a poet
at reflections in the water?
Look up fellow! There, ahead of us
are the Atlas Mountains. Whatever
your aches, they will be gone soon.
We shall beach our mechanical oars
on the wide white sands of Africa. And behold!
A whole continent is waiting.