Drunken, beaten, back we’re borne.
I was on ice,
now it’s the shore.
Days of sail and incessant sun.
I miss the mast and fear it sunk.
Yet, at sea, I always miss
green meadows and a fairy’s kiss.
Oh, sweet breezes, that hail pirates sublime!
Too much salt can make the heart saline.
© achillesheelpoetry, 2022