The Call Of The Sea Poem by David Lewis Paget

He wandered along the decks by night,
Stood at the rails by day,
Kept to himself from what I saw
And didn't have much to say,
He wore a yellow sou'wester when
The weather came in cold,
And a battered and worn old Navy cap
With the legend ‘Merchant Gold'.

He must have been once a seaman
In a time quite long ago,
He still had his steady seaman's legs
On the ‘Michaelangelo',
A crusty and time-worn cruise ship
That had seen much better days,
Pottering round the islands through
The softly lapping waves.

I doubt that it could withstand a storm
It was just a summer cruise,
For a raggedy band of tourists who
Had nothing much to lose,
The fares were cheap and the cabins bare
So I utilised the bar,
While the wife would wander off and say,
‘I'll know just where you are! '

I got in some serious drinking
There was nothing else to do,
While Helen came back with every name
Of the stewards, and the crew,
For Helen's a social butterfly
And she loves to gad about,
I've never been much of a talker
So I tend to shut her out.

One night I happened to wander out
She was over by the rail,
Listening to the sailor who
Was reading her some tale,
I turned back into the dining room
Until my wife was free,
Then asked her: ‘What was he reading? '
And she said, ‘Some poetry! '

‘A poem called ‘Sea Fever' that had
Brought a tear to his eye,
It was all about a tall ship
And a star to steer her by,
If only you could have heard him, Ben
He had such a tale to tell,
I could have listened to him for hours,
His soul is like a well.'

‘His life was spent on the water and
He calls it God's domain,
He said that having to leave it brought
His life's most constant pain,
He pointed the constellations out
Named every little star,
He gave me a feeling of awe about
The ocean, where we are.'

I know I must have been jealous for
I never took the bait,
I didn't talk to the sailor,
When I would, it was too late,
A storm blew up and the rising seas
Crashed over the decks and spars,
While he clung onto the outer rails
And gazed on up at the stars.

And then I must have been seeing things
For a man approached him there,
Holding onto a trident with
Coiled seaweed in his hair,
Touched him once with the trident and
The sailor turned his head,
Nodded once, with a gentle smile
Then draped on the rail, was dead.

They gathered the poor old sailor up
And bound him up in a sheet,
Waited until the sea calmed down
Called everyone to meet,
Then after a simple service they
Just slipped him into the sea,
A fitting end for a sailor who
Had left our company.

But Helen was broken hearted she
Was weeping all day long,
While I was irritated, and
I asked her, what was wrong?
She stopped and smiled, and she said, ‘Oh well,
He's back in the sea he loved,
In a tall ship with a broad sail,
With the sky and the stars above! '

I think of him, and Neptune with
A trident, on his throne,
The sailor reading poetry
But this time, quite alone,
While coral reefs and gentle seas
Pay tribute to his life,
But I couldn't share it now with him…
He shared it with my wife!


9 January 2015

(‘Sea Fever' by John Masefield)