Sail On

the wharf was teeming black and white, the gulls were keening in their flight round and round the fishing scow the old man scowled his heavy brow forty years before the mast and now today would be his last the smell of fish,the salty air was in his soul and now despair chilled his heart like winter gales he thought about the moon on sails the loved ones left upon the shore a hundred times or even more he thought about his only son who ran away when he was young because he swore to never be another sailor on the sea the old man dropped the anchor then and swabbed the decks and set his chin he took his slicker and his hat and walked the plank, imagine that but then a young voice from the past hollered out,Ahoy,Avast! there'll be no mutiny on my ship I brought some ale come have a sip the old salt turned his weary head oh son they told me you were dead I'm not a ghost,it's really me, let's get this bucket out to sea. and 'round the world his spirit flew and came back home to start anew.