The Mariner Poem by Nicholas Windle

To be a mariner.

We set sail for the Indies, our cargo stowed below,
As we leave the port of Liverpool and the woman folk we know.
Our journey will take sometime, and the weather seldom kind,
A fleeting glance of the harbor quay, and the love I left behind.
The mast they stand so resolute, the sails billow in the breeze,
With the thoughts of my first command, gives a slight unease.
Gone now the days of cabin boy, and whether I could cope,
As I climbed along the rigging, my feet supported by a rope,
Several months have now gone by, as we begin to round the cape.
I prey for safe passage, on the course we have to take,
The meeting of the oceans whips up some heavy squalls,
As the ship begins to roll, then hits a peak then falls.
Many a lost sailor lies at the bottom deep,
As I firmly hold on to the wheel, my crew and ship to keep.
Times like these I wonder, why I ever chose this life,
As my thoughts go back to Liverpool, and the company of my wife.