There is a chill in the air, you can feel it in the breeze.
The sails pulling harder, than the summer so it seems.
The waters appear darker, and the shore more far away,,
Winter storms brew on the horizon, yet she must sail on today.
Salt air that stings the eyes, with cold and wetness deep,
Clouds that scud across the sky, from the winds that howl Nor’east.
The lonely sea birds soar, against the dark grey clouds above,
As the bow cuts on ahead, through the waves both tall and steep.
I hear the creaking of the joints as they work way down below,
The humming of the rigging that resonates in the blow.
The fizzling of the sea foam that races along her sides,
And the pounding of the seas becoming angry with the tide.
Yet the soft glow of the cabin lamp swinging slowly to and fro,
And the muffled sound of conversation emanating from below,
Reminds one of the friends who share this sailors realm,
You feel so alive, your hands firmly on the helm.
You’ll run her down the stream until in port she sails no more,
And leave her safely on the mooring as all go in ashore.
But the outgoing tide makes her tug upon her lines,
As she waits impatient once again, counting down the time.
Longing for the feel of the kiss of waves on wood,
Her spirit free, to roam the sea as every vessel should.
You cannot leave her moaning long for the deep blue beneath her hull,
Nor listen more to her cries for the seas cold, lonely call.
So loose her once again to sail the bounding main,
Let her preach the religion of the sea that courses through her veins.
Sail onward, ever onward to wherever she may know,
For the open sea’s where she belongs, and its there that she must go.