Taking a piece of paper from his pocket, Steiger cleared his throat, and began by reading the title, followed by the words of the poem.
“NO HEADSTONE ON A SAILOR'S GRAVE
Third day now, and still no sign of any rescue boat,
Please God, how much longer on this ocean must we float.
Poor Lofty's fell asleep again, I'm afraid he's getting weaker.
Truth be told, I think that our chances are getting bleaker.
She went down so very quickly, it happened all so fast.
Torpedo in the hold I think, judging by the blast.
So cold, wet and hungry, no fresh water to drink.
Must keep baling though, don't want this thing to sink.
Lofty seems delirious, he thinks he's home in bed,
Strange how things like this put all these daft things in your head.
Maybe my mind will start to go, if we're not found
