The Rolling Seas

When the time arrives for me to depart from the sunlit harbors of the living. Take me aboard a navy fighting ship and carry me back again to the sea. Order the boatswain to construct a skid made of wood and painted with fresh white paint. Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes. Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing. Muster the funeral party astern Play taps and slide me into the blue drink. Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling sea take this old sailor to his final peace. © Copyrights G. Jones 2006