Post by johan on Jan 9, 2012 12:35:41 GMT -5
Behold the green and red streaked clouds
Far out amid the ocean's port and starboard
Of the setting sun that streaks the sky
Singing the night and moon a special lullaby
Bows on to our course a few degrees
The slap of waves that caress our passing
As though strange creatures dis-allow
Shadows, that would be us asking
An arc of pointed orange light, one then two
Nothing to port added to the course
Seems the land becomes unwanted teeth
Frail steel beneath our booted feet
The wind sings from the sou-sou-west
As though we have a guardian friend
Maybe a sailor's soul, an Albatross
An eerie song from the rigging's nest
Dog-watch, strange name for keeping seamen safe
Tired eyes that scan the shadowed sea
Ticking of the compass in her binnacle of brass
Helm, a cartwheel made from a landsman's tree
Foremast just a shadow, a cross below the night
The figurehead that guards our pointed bow
Crossed flukes of the housed anchors
Superstition, a sailor's right.
No sound of the bells
silence bequeath the darkness
quiet is the night
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
