The Sailor that sets to sea is not coming home again. The ebb and flow of the tides has captured more than flesh and bone. You may see him haught the shoreline while his ship is docked but you will not eye him long for a night at the pub and a turn in the sack and the salt shall call him again.
The barnacles burn deep and cannot be ignored for land can claim no hold
on the Sailor that peers to the distance.
Coconut clad islands before wheat fields.
Cotton skirts cannot swish the same as simple grass ones.
Nothing can dance upon water like Dolphins skipping faster and faster.
No for the Sailor better to sea, better to sea.
How shall I say, spray in your face, storm just up the way, nothing even comes close.
To marry would be adulterous for some would say the Sailor has a wife, wet, wonderful and wild so the Sailor must not sin, careful not to anger, faithfull.
Wave goodby to the Sailor for this time he has taken a wife who shall sit by
her window watching every sail that billows by praying that the knock on
the door is only relatives come a calling and not the Harbor Master with
Wreaths of Red and stories to tell..................................................................