When Old Sailors Slipp Anchor
When old sailors go
A seaman sees death as an ocean of tranquillity
no storm will upset his raft he can safely sleep
Through the ages of time, fish can swim, whales
Blow a rainbow fine, and sharks can kill seals
It does not bother him; the course is set
For the Island of Saragossa where his friends wait
to say: halloo old man, remember us?
And they will help him make his raft into
a beach hut where there is always sunset and
the whisky bottle never gets empty.
He sighs, home from the sea at last.
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