Once again you sail the salty seas,
taking in the mist drifting blissfully along the morning breeze.
The kindleing starlight upon you silver hair,
and the seashells strung around your neck so fair.
You long to be near the roaring sea,
the beating of your heart is attuned to the waves seductive plea.
Or is it perhaps that the sea longs for you!
When you wander the gray lands long,
it weeps only a sorrowful tide-song.
Let the wind unfurl your white sails as you drift toward the mast,
Mithlond is now only but a vision of the past.
Can’t you see the wave’s fluffy white foam,
or hear the far off cry of a port’s bellowing drone?
Of course!
A shipwright can hear even the beating of the ocean’s heart and it’s tone,
knowing full well it has life of it’s own.
The passion in your eyes,
mirror only the water and it’s clear gentle skies.
Seagulls sing to you in a vast blue sky a cheerful poem,
and wind hugs you in a warm embrace as you hear their chant:
The Mariner-King is home!