For those who’ve sailed the seven seas

and felt the breeze at forward bows

and listened to the old salt’s yarns

about the crow’s nest and the views

or heard the siren’s  menacing wail

when storms clouds grew and thunder

hailed – as we looked upward to the

skies – remembering some who lived

or died, or knew their knots and spliced

the ropes to tie to bollards when we

docked  - or climbed up for a crow’s

nest view, when tempests where

announced as due, or those for whom

a watery grave might hover for some

hapless knave – and then the calm

appeared at last and flying fish were

scooting waves – as we the gullible

proclaimed it was old nick who should

be blamed, but let us off for one more

time, and all of us we smiled with glee,

for some - so perilous the sea, but oh

that briny smell of it – i waft it still –

and decades on – i treasure yet – a fond

ness for my youthfulness – yes all of it

especially when whistling winds set off

though some of us were throwing up



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