Let the salt on the wind anoint.
Sail away with me.
Please.
Aboard ‘The Knife.’
Even if, with that stiff breeze
And the fields and the trees
At your back,
You don’t have the knack
Or say you’ve never sailed in your life.
Come.
We’re heading for that fearful headland
Away
From we’re-nearly-dead-land.
We’re gettin’ outta this joint.
We’ll sail
And yen to take soundings
And there’ll be days when we fight.
There’ll be days we pray
For variation from the slight undulation
And one day we’ll find ourselves rounding
Salient Point.