My map by the ancients, my sexton, my star
my God in my heaven, my light from afar.
The moon to her slumber, the sun in the east;
a new day a-beckons, my canvas released.
Once hoisted and hauling in southerly winds;
a dawning horizon o’er morning she sings.
Her motions and passions, my senses aware.
to tend to her verses, her chorus beware.
Her rigging my fibers, my mast sturdy spine;
her sails on my breaths in the winds of Divine.
My bones in her timbers, my heart in her hold.
Whatever the weather an awe to behold.
Her humors to sooth to tempestuous seas.
How oft’ I have pleaded for calm on my knees.
I bore her commotion, serene in her peace;
I prayed for her mercy each day to beseech.
Her bouts of fury on the whims of her waves;
her harbours to anchor; her fathomless graves.
Her stillness, the doldrums, where suffered despair;
her beauties at sundown where found my repair.
Her myths, her monsters, of a great white whale;
flotillas to flotsam, how Bligh to prevail.
Schooners and pirates who lay cold on her bed
in cahoots with the moon, she’ll give up her dead.
Her pleasure to nurture her fruits for ye’er nets.
Pay heed to her tempers for fear ye forgets’.
Her tidings to tender to dreams she’ll comply,
when out of the blue, terra firma ahoy!
The sea o the sea over her mystery,
I’ve sailed ‘round her islands in grand company.
She gave me her all, so, what more can I say
but carried me home where she found me a bay.
My timbers are aching; my rigging is frayed;
my canvas won’t hold to the winds, I’m afraid.
Though weathered and withered, a privilege, my friend.
With fondest farewells, I’ll ne’er sail her again.