The Sea

I see nothing that's made by man's hand. My eyes make out this deep waterland. We race sea path this day's way as planned. Sails full, breeze strong. Sheets need go far to reach beach and sand. Sky's clear, way's long. Wheel feels steady, ship stays straight on course. We sail nine knots before Auster's force. No life plays the swells these days for us. Mates work, they toil. They keep clipper trim gainsay words coarse. Know ye, most roil. Hey Ho, climb the ratlines, hold your jaws. Stave thee thy bilge or you'll feel cat's claws. We make Canton without little pause. Fly jibs, we lug. Be we slow now, the sea isn't cause. Blow wind, sails hug.