The salty spray,
the screeching gull,
the sails white and full,
the moody sky,
our last goodbye,
all gone, love and play.
Anon, the boys and girls will hunt,
and who will catch? and who'll be caught?
but I will drift away.
In work and labor they will grunt,
but will they find the joy once sought?
The tide takes me away.
Tale Told 