IS THERE A MAN.

( weathers)

Is there a man who doesn't yearn
for the fading shore in the gaze astern
thru' squint flint sun in the rising spray
of a toiling wake, as he squared away.

Well so do I.

Is there a man who doesn't sigh
for horizons carved with a seaman's eye
when a sweeping gaze o'er a falling bow
unveils a mystery here and now.

Well so do I.

Is there a man who hasn't fought
dark brooding seas when fierce onslaught
deep chilled his bones then drained his heart
and fused his soul with dread and dark,
who whispered prayers in a solemn pact
who shunned the devil with broad turned back

Well so did I.

And is there a man who didn't thrill
to the landfall o'er the watery hill,
or the perfumed breeze of a foreign shore
and the sights and sounds and, something more,
lips leased, with a tilt at the mockingbird,
sweet tangled breath without a word.

Ah, so did I.

And is there a boy still deep beneath
where the sap of spring fights eternal peace
who shouldered canvas and made his way
to an errant life with seaman's pay,
who carved his name on the rolling stage
with not a thought for advancing age.

Well so did I.

Now is there a man here who doesn't ache
for another glimpse of a winding wake
for the weather breeze and the curling track
of the twisting smoke when looking back
at the sprinkled mist of the rising spray
on a western head near the close of day.

Well so do I.

So, is there a man who paced at night
across broad seas till morning light,
who toiled to shape his myth in time
when life depended, where lives entwined
where wisdom forged and sinews stretched
who wrought his lore on broad sea's fetch
Is there a man who would go there yet?
Is there a man with one regret ?

Well nor have I.


Reg Kear © Australia 2003.