OLD SAILORS SIT AND CHEW THE FAT ABOUT THINGS THAT USED TO BE,... OF THE THINGS THEYVE SEEN, THE PLACES THEYVE BEEN, WHEN THEY VENTURED OUT TO SEA. THEY REMEMBERED FRIENDS FROM LONG AGO, THE TIMES THEY HAD BACK THEN. THE MONEY THEY SPENT, THE BEER THEY DRANK, IN THEIR DAYS AS SAILING MEN. THEIR LIVES ARE LIVED IN DAYS GONE BY, WITH THOUGHTS THAT FOREVER LAST. OF BELL BOTTOM BLUES, WINGED WHITE HATS, AND GOOD TIMES IN THEIR PAST. THEY RECALL LONG NIGHTS WITH A MOON SO BRIGHT FAR OUT ON A LONELY SEA. THE THOUGHTS THEY HAD AS YOUTHFUL LADS, WHEN THEIR LIVES WERE WILD AND FREE. THEY KNEW SO WELL HOW THEIR HEARTS WOULD SWELL WHEN OLD GLORY FLUTTERED PROUD AND FREE. THE UNDERWAY PENNANT SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT AS THEY PLOWED THROUGH AN ANGRY SEA. THEY TALKED OF THE CHOW OL COOKIE WOULD MAKE AND THE SHRILL OF THE BOS UNS PIPE. HOW SALT SPRAY WOULD FALL LIKE SPARKS FROM HELL WHEN A STORM STRUCK IN THE NIGHT. THEY REMEMBER OLD SHIPMATES ALREADY GONE WHO FOREVER HOLD A SPOT IN THEIR HEART, WHEN SAILORS WERE BOLD, AND FRIENDSHIPS WOULD HOLD, UNTIL DEATH RIPPED THEM APART. THEY SPEAK OF NIGHTS IN PIG ALLEY AND GUT ON MANY A FOREIGN SHORE, OF THE BEER THEYD DOWN AS GATHERING AROUND, TELLING JOKES AND SEA STORIES GALORE. THEIR SAILING DAYS ARE GONE AWAY, NEVER AGAIN WILL THEY CROSS THE BROW. THEY HAVE NO REGRETS, THEY KNOW THEY ARE BLESSED, FOR HONORING A SACRED VOW. THEIR NUMBERS GROW LESS WITH EACH PASSING DAY AS THE FINAL MUSTER BEGINS, THERES NOTHING TO LOSE, ALL HAVE PAID DUES, AND THEYLL SAIL WITH SHIPMATES AGAIN. IVE HEARD THEM SAY BEFORE GETTING UNDERWAY THAT THERES STILL SOME SAILING TO DO, THEYLL SAY WITH A GRIN THAT THEIR SHIP HAS COME IN AND THE GOOD LORD NEEDS A GOOD CREW.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Jan 2014 15:02:22 +0000
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