Rolling boat on roiling seas: heaving and creaking & pitching and listing -- Decks shifting between untenable states, Crew tying in, tethering to what might become the anchor around their collective necks, pulling them all to the depths - 'til the last bubble spills upward from a nostril.
There is health in thy gray wing, Health of nature's furnishing. Say, thou modern-winged antique, Was thy mistress ever sick? In each heaving of thy wing Thou dost health and leisure bring, Thou dost waive disease and pain And resume new life again.