The sea is a mistress to sailors,
waves beckoning homeward fall,
white crested heads on a rolling tide
above a dark mysterious lair.
A ghostly mist masks the sirens wail,
come hither, come hither,
and against my rocky home fall.
However, men are men
as sailors are born to the sea,
a home from home
full of tempest lure and bounty free.
David Harris
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sea-12/
