The Latvian Sailor
The wheeling birds are joy beheld,
Though storks they’ll never be,
Or petrels as they wheel and sweep,
Upon the Baltic Sea.
I stroll the focsle north and south,
Warm winds are on the lee,
But now I yearn for Latvia,
That slumbers by the sea.
Its harbour lights shall lure me,
As the sirens sweet, seduce,
When I would sail the southern seas,
Where I played fast and loose.
But country lanes now call me,
And the lure of river, lakes,
Where wagtails on the pastures sing,
The dreams of home awakes.
So I shall pen an epitaph,
Renounce the seas so free,
For nation that is home-sweet-home,
That sings by Baltic Sea.
Michael (Walsh) 22.08.13
quite_write@yahoo.co.uk