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Small Boats
by Vince Mills

They waited and waited in the water.
That night was black as ink.
“I see a boat”, a voice from up the line had shouted.
And stiff with cold they hauled them in, like fish.

They gasped as callous seas slapped their craft backwards
Towards the beach in Dunkirk they had left.
Although the boat was old and men were injured
They reached calmer waters, almost safe.

Until they looked on English beaches
Thinking how their landing might be gauged,
Surviving heroes of a near disaster, or
Unwelcome victims of imperial decline.

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