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OLD SAILORS SIT AND CHEW THE FAT ABOUT THINGS THAT USED TO BE,
OF THE THINGS THEY'VE SEEN, THE PLACES THEY'VE BEEN, WHEN THEY
VENTURED OUT TO SEA.
THEY REMEMBERED FRIENDS FROM LONG AGO, THE TIMES THEY HAD BACK THEN.
THE MONEY THEY SPENT, THE BEER THEY DRANK, IN THEIR DAYS AS SAILING
MEN.
THEIR LIVES ARE LIVED IN DAYS GONE BY, WITH THOUGHTS THAT FOREVER
LAST.
OF BELL BOTTOM BLUES, WINGED WHITE HATS, AND GOOD TIMES IN THEIR
PAST.
THEY RECALL LONG NIGHTS WITH A MOON SO BRIGHT FAR OUT ON A LONELY
SEA.
THE THOUGHTS THEY HAD AS YOUTHFUL LADS, WHEN THEIR LIVES WERE WILD
AND FREE.
THEY KNEW SO WELL HOW THEIR HEARTS WOULD SWELL WHEN OLD GLORY
FLUTTERED PROUD AND FREE.
THE UNDERWAY PENNANT SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT AS THEY PLOWED THROUGH
AN ANGRY SEA.
THEY TALKED OF THE CHOW OL' COOKIE WOULD MAKE AND THE SHRILL OF THE
BOSUN'S PIPE.
HOW SALT SPRAY WOULD FALL LIKE SPARKS FROM HELL WHEN A STORM STRUCK
IN THE NIGHT.
THEY REMEMBER OLD SHIPMATES ALREADY GONE WHO FOREVER HOLD A SPOT IN
THEIR HEART,
WHEN SAILORS WERE BOLD, AND FRIENDSHIPS WOULD HOLD, UNTIL DEATH
RIPPED THEM APART.
THEY SPEAK OF NIGHTS SPENT IN BAWDY HOUSES ON MANY A FOREIGN SHORE,
OF THE BEER THEY'D DOWN AS GATHERING AROUND, TELLING JOKES WITH A
BUSTY WHORE.
THEIR SAILING DAYS ARE GONE AWAY, NEVER AGAIN WILL THEY CROSS THE
BROW.
THEY HAVE NO REGRETS, THEY KNOW THEY ARE BLESSED, FOR HONORING A
SACRED VOW.
THEIR NUMBERS GROW LESS WITH EACH PASSING DAY AS THE FINAL MUSTER
BEGINS,
THERE'S NOTHING TO LOSE, ALL HAVE PAID DUES, AND THEY'LL SAIL WITH
SHIPMATES AGAIN.
I'VE HEARD THEM SAY BEFORE GETTING UNDERWAY THAT THERE'S STILL SOME
SAILING TO DO,
THEY'LL SAY WITH A GRIN THAT THEIR SHIP HAS COME IN AND THE LORD IS
COMMANDING THE CREW.
Larry Dunn,
RMCM(SS)(NAC), USN (Ret.)
June 4, 2001 |