The morning is moist with ocean spray.
The islands, they twist around the bay;
and across them all, my eyes have scanned -
the rocky cliffs and the buttes of sand.
I almost think it an Irish isle.
Such beauty to make the heart beguile.
Sunrise stain on a listless ocean
serves to add to the magic potion.
A boat is docked alongside the pier.
A woman and man are standing near.
He is setting sail to ports unseen
upon the gilded Emerald Queen.
Standing on tip-toes to give a kiss,
she cries while pretending unfelt bliss.
Others have perished over the years.
They left these isles for happier spheres.
And I know the pain on lips unstirred,
the hurt behind that familiar word -
the word 'good-bye' and all it implies
and the heart that bleeds in streaming eyes.
He holds her hand as he walks away.
His linen shirt as bright as the day.
At last he lets loose; this is the end.
His sandy blonde hair blows in the wind.