OLD SAILORS

By Charles Noble

 

 

OLD SAILORS SIT AND CHEW THE FAT ABOUT THINGS THAT USED TO BE, OF THE THINGS THEY'VE SEEN, THE PLACES THEY'VE BEEN, WHEN THEY VENTURED OUT TO SEA.

 THEY REMEMBERED FRIENDS FROM LONG AGO, THE TIMES THEY HAD BACK THEN. THE MONEY THEY SPENT, THE BEER THEY DRANK, IN THEIR DAYS AS SAILING MEN.

THEIR LIVES ARE LIVED IN DAYS GONE BY, WITH THOUGHTS THAT FOREVER LAST. OF BELL BOTTOM BLUES, WINGED WHITE HATS, AND GOOD TIMES IN THEIR PAST.

THEY RECALL LONG NIGHTS WITH A MOON SO BRIGHT FAR OUT ON A LONELY SEA. THE THOUGHTS THEY HAD AS YOUTHFUL LADS, WHEN THEIR LIVES WERE WILD AND FREE.

THEY KNEW SO WELL HOW THEIR HEARTS WOULD SWELL WHEN OLD GLORY FLUTTERED PROUD AND FREE. THE UNDERWAY PENNANT SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT AS THEY PLOWED THROUGH AN ANGRY SEA.

THEY TALKED OF THE CHOW OL' COOKIE WOULD MAKE AND THE SHRILL OF THE BOSUN'S PIPE. HOW SALT SPRAY WOULD FALL LIKE SPARKS FROM HELL WHEN A STORM  STRUCK IN THE NIGHT.

THEY REMEMBER OLD SHIPMATES ALREADY GONE WHO FOREVER HOLD A SPOT IN THEIR HEART, WHEN SAILORS WERE BOLD, AND FRIENDSHIPS WOULD HOLD, UNTIL DEATH RIPPED THEM APART.

THEY SPEAK OF NIGHTS SPENT IN BAWDY HOUSES ON MANY A FOREIGN SHORE, OF THE BEER THEY'D DOWN AS GATHERING AROUND, TELLING JOKES WITH A BUSTY WHORE.

THEIR SAILING DAYS ARE GONE AWAY, NEVER AGAIN WILL THEY CROSS THE BROW. THEY HAVE NO REGRETS, THEY KNOW THEY ARE BLESSED, FOR HONORING A SACRED VOW.

THEIR NUMBERS GROW LESS WITH EACH PASSING DAY AS THE FINAL MUSTER BEGINS, THERE'S NOTHING TO LOSE, ALL HAVE PAID DUES, AND THEY'LL SAIL WITH SHIPMATES AGAIN.

I'VE HEARD THEM SAY BEFORE GETTING UNDERWAY THAT THERE'S STILL SOME SAILING TO DO, THEY'LL SAY WITH A GRIN THAT THEIR SHIP HAS COME IN AND THE LORD IS COMMANDING THE CREW.

 

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