Sailor

He likes to live in the past

It keeps things in place

He’s a fading die that’s cast

On an old seafaring face

He has a thousand tales

Gathered from the waves

From shipwrecks and whales

To lands full of slaves

He could talk about the days

Of scurvy and the rash

The drunk and fighting haze

The myth of rum, sodomy and lash

But there’s no listening ear

Time has left its mark

The decks have been cleared

The sea dog no longer barks

©JMcN2015