Day three – Stowaway

“Anchor away!” my captain cries
we sail into the deep,
for I but a poor man a stowin’
on the ride to the land I seek.

The waves they do come a crashing,
the shouts of “rum and tea”
pretending that I am a matey
that can’t but see I must flee.

Away from the land of cruelty
away from dem crook’d lies,
for a penniless beggar forsaken
is naught but a slight to the eyes.

I dream of greener pastures
of burgeoning lots of meat,
as in my ripped old pockets
is but stolen, stale bread to eat.

The sea it is a heavy
the storm it does draw near,
but the captain keeps us moving
through the darkened skies that appear.

Through the night we battle
though the wind it drowns our ears,
we are awaitin’ for a horizon
that settles our nerves and fears.

At dawn we see a prospect
and our tired eyes do weep,
for our trusted ship needs the slumber
and a place for our weary feet.

At last we see a shore to be seen!
and in the harbour we dock,
I finally feel dry land on my bones
and a harbour I can but stock.

Here we are, in my new ‘omeland
a place I can be kept,
I kiss the ground, on where I’m found
And take joy in what now I protect.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s