Reds Heads Poem by Mark Heathcote

Reds heads, when the blue mist takes over, it is time to batten the hatches and pray to your saviour.
See the lighthouse warning, warning danger, danger, danger. There's no saviour.
Where is the nearest harbour, god, give me the will, the strength to stir her.
That's the life of a sailor, but I didn't know it would also include a land lover. An SOS won't do you any favour; she's a devil of a storm, and all you can hope for is she won't let go.
Or drown you, but you are going to be scuppered, that is for sure. Anchored and praying to the lord, I'm seeing angels just offshore. Then, there must be a heaven after all.
And like a gallery slave, she's got me enslaved. No bolthole will set me free. I'm in love with this wild sea.