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THE SAILOR


He comes to port
As she awaits his whiskers
Rough on her soft face

He leaves that ship
With weary sea legs
To the ground where rocking

Is to be found
Next to his wife
Rolling wave of tender

Because she knows
The oceans cold
Her heat surrenders

Warm to their fluffy nest
Where the kindest kind
Of pink skies

Shine in the Lord's eyes
Where she's made from this man's rib
Her sailor, come home from the seas for Christmas...


12/11/2006 1800 cj






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