Scruff sailor smelling of hot salty days
And sleepless nights alone
Hears restless heart murmurings, songs of love,
For the woman he left at home.

His distant journey nears its end
With white sails secure and tied,
Salt sailor with his seasick love
Now returns for the cameo bride.

While the anxious, lovelorn sailor dreams
Of the lady-in-waiting on sand,
He thinks of a widow's walk to be built
To see from the house, across land…




      (What treasures will the future bring
      With greetings of arms open wide?
      Thinks the lost-at-sea sailor while conjuring up
      Distant scenes of his cameo bride.)

With anchor dropped, his feet puddle fast
Through swirling sand-pools left behind
Til he reaches the gate of the white picket fence
To return for the woman inside.

His cameo love with lily-white skin
All dressed with starched lacy ruffles
With cameo brooch pinned under her chin,
He throws down his salty, green duffle.

Then picking her up from her feet, he will dance
With his cameo bride for the night,
But he thinks of the widow's walk he must build
So she'll notice his ship when in sight.

He speaks of his plan, then wisks her away
For his dance in the garden sun,
But his preoccupation returns to his mind
And he thinks of the work to be done…



      (He could watch with his scope from the top of the mast
      For his cameo bride to be found
      And when she looks to sea from her new widow's walk
      She will know that her sailor's in town!)



Too busy to notice the tear on her cheek,
Neglecting to realize her sorrow,
Scruff sailor still smelling of hot salty days
Has hastened his plans of tomorrow.

With pencil in hand, he draws up the plan
For the new widow's walk to be built.
He wipes off the tears of her cameo years
But never expresses his guilt.

Soon the day nears its end, the sailor fatigued,
He utters familiar regrets
To his cameo bride with her lily-white skin
Who lives for her overnight guest.

So morning time comes and the sailor reflects
On where the next port will be
And when the new widow's walk could be built
When he next returns from the sea.

And then off to his sea, the sailor returns
To hot days and nights spent alone
The crew all on board, the anchor pulled up,
The cameo bride left at home.

Sea sailor so silent with dreams of his own
Sea-visions of grey, hazy mist,
Land-lubber so restless when anchored at home
Yet land-locked with cameo bliss.

© Lynn Shaw (lynnws@ntelos.net)