A pecking was heard upon a windowpane,
and four winds blew, and four did bend, warping wood,
as it twists me home,
dry from the ocean’s spray…

Bleak the view,
my pockets lined with dust,
and fragments of toil left time
etched in rows upon my forehead deep.
Inside me boots, torn and tattered,
a straight blade, sharp
for the sea is harsh, and I was saved by a widow’s hand…

Thrown ashore by a whale’s tail, a ship lost
a hundred men wailed.
I collapsed, its shore foreign to my steps,
I quivered and struggled to stand. Land?

Now, it is here I plant seeds,
inside a widow’s mansion
and high upon a hill inside the widow,
as we dance beneath blankets,
hidden from an evening’s chill,
nigh to be blown away, high upon a hill.

Her heat warms like Rum,
and waves of passion whispered in deep breaths
fall upon us both
as I, speak and hold her in arms of one,
in quarters away from sea…
with land hard and barren, of a single tree.

Her eyes have caught me,
her sunset glow, her morning dew,
her arms bracing, mounds pressing against my lips,
nurtured as a young babe, be I.
Yes, this maiden has caught me,
she, mending me soul, and I, distance her loss,
as we are lost… in a heavy pet, throughout our days.

And upon a day a morning fine, we, will return to sea
fashioned from the widow’s mansion.
A boat, its timbers will drift, carried by a dream.

Blessed,
for we will overlook,
pounding waves far from this barren earth,
where crops struggle to root.

And I will miss not a grain of soil upon this rocky peak
as we set sail to our home upon the sea…
barren… of a single tree