Oh for a deck beneath my feet
And a turning tide,
For a tall ship of oak or teak
Give me the sea to ride.
Oh for the smell of tar my friends,
And the rolling oakham song,
Oh for the shrouds to climb again,
For these I long.
Oh for the sight of the sails at night,
And the stars a passing by,
Oh for the sound of the brace and blocks,
And the lonely fulmers cry.
Oh for a mess room filled with mates,
And a card game aces high,
And a hammock slung between the beams
In the only place that’s dry.
Oh for the sound of the pounding sea,
On the ship’s great oaken sides,
The crashing waves the spume and the spray,
As over the green she rides.
Oh for the sight of a sunset bright,
As far as the eye can see
The sun goes to bed in a glory of red,
As the night time sets her free.
Oh for the salt in my face again,
And to lose the sight of me,
If the grey ship come to my place again,
They will come to set me free.
Caroline Baldock © 2008