The sea is a mistress to sailors,
waves beckoning homeward fall,
white crested heads on a rolling tide
above a dark mysterious lair.
A ghostly mist masks the sirens wail,
come hither, come hither,
and against my rocky home fall.
However, men are men
as sailors are born to the sea,
a home from home
full of tempest lure and bounty free.
How many have fallen to Mistress, in Davy Jones locker they Eternally be...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is lovely, truly a pleasant read. Melvina