The Old Sailor

I saw you when you stood atop the mast

    And set your face against the sea.

Your calloused hands held firm against the ropes

    And in the wind your hair blew free.

But now your back is turned to salt and foam

    And flat, unmoving earth you tread.

Your hands are soft, your cheeks have lost their tan,

    And you lie not in bunk, but bed.

Come! Smell again the tang of salty air

    And feel the wind upon your back.

Grip once again the ropes, and boldly sail

    The ocean's ever-changing track.

T.G. 1/31/2023