Explore "Through the Fog" by Joseph C. Lincoln on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The fog was so thick yer could cut it / 'Thout reachin' a foot over-side, / The dory she'd nose up ter butt it, / And then git discouraged an' slide; / No noise but the thole-pins a-squeakin', / Or, maybe, the swash of a wave, / No feller ter cheer yer by speakin' -- / 'Twas lonesomer, lots, than the grave.
I set there an' thought of my trouble, / I thought how I'd worked fer the cash / That bust and went up like a bubble / The day that the bank went ter smash. / I thought how the fishin' was failin', / How little this season I'd made, / I thought of the child that was ailin', / I thought of the bills ter be paid.