In the waters the old man sings
upon the boat asailing;
above him seagulls spread their wings
to drift the skies unfailing.
The crash of waves upon the seas,
the creaking joints in old bent knees;
Trousers blue and washed with age;
clothes forever ridden with fleas.
In the waters the old man sleeps
alone yet so, but happy still;
on a rusted box of things he keeps,
pictures of friends, a damp torn will;
Rings from wives of years past gone,
A trumpet, a flute? Nay; a horn.
Papers of words he once held high,
their passing to age shall not be mourned.
In the waters the old man spies
the world awaking before his eyes.
The sun arising, the moon asleep;
and the dolphins in their morning leap.
He left all behind, all away;
to seek to world. Didn't they say
that he'll regret it; he never did.
Forever here till death he'll stay.
In the waters the old man walks,
away, away, from his troubles past;
in silent nights and quiet talks
with the sea. He has found
Peace at last.
PS: Thanks to everyone who helped me this week. You know who and why :)