By Elfin.
Artist Astrid Shekels
Oh the sound of lapping waves
that carry me to foreign shores,
fresh winds that billow swollen sails
the taste of salt that clogs my pores.
Raucous cries of voracious gulls
exposed to bouts of squalling rain,
trembling timbers shudder and groan
taut pulling ropes the bollards strain.
Screaming winds whip the rigging
as scudding clouds the daylight dims,
hoisting cargoes above the decks
to rest in bowels with laboured limbs.
Salt that penetrates my blood
borne on the wake of fading day,
to swab the boards upon the deck
to feel the timbers heave and sway.
Oh the sound of lapping waves
sweet music of a shanty song,
ahoy m’lads to sail the seas
a native of a tall ships throng.
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