Old sailors

16 December 2013

Let’s sing of the days of yore,
of all the moments gone,
Things unspoken, and some regrets
of where we’ve roamed;
And the places we’ve not yet seen.
Hands pricked by the needle,
and at the anvil burned.
Sore are our palms
from ropes cold and wet;
And when at last we’re home,
we’ll remember those bitter ends
that slipped unnoticed
through our hardened hands,
And we’ll miss the members
of our merry band –
So! Let’s sing of the days of yore,
for things’ll never be
as they were before.

David Stevens