Far off in the distance,
a thousand dreams or so,
a winged syren beckons
of land, of hope, of home
An alluring vision rises,
between port bow and port beam,
above the windward gunwale,
above the Devil's seam
The main and mizzen struggle
against the howling wind,
the staysails strain
against the sheets
hauled taut and closely in
But the course we follow
cannot reach our destination true
We must tack and then again,
until our bow is set dead on,
and find a steady
wind and fair
to fly above
the pounding waves,
to free the maiden's hair
Just beyond the bowsprit,
a thousand leagues at sea,
the flying jib will lead us where
our spirits find their peace
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 7:48 PM UTC
Far off in the distance,
a thousand dreams or so,
a winged syren beckons
of land, of hope, of home
An alluring vision rises,
between port bow and port beam,
above the windward gunwale,
above the Devil's seam
The main and mizzen struggle
against the howling wind,
the staysails strain
against the sheets
hauled taut and closely in
But the course we follow
cannot reach our destination true
We must tack and then again,
until our bow is set dead on,
and find a steady
wind and fair
to fly above
the pounding waves,
to free the maiden's hair
Just beyond the bowsprit,
a thousand leagues at sea,
the flying jib will lead us where
our spirits find their peace