Sea Fever

One of my favourite poems - by John Masefield - came to mind today, as we caught the ferry to the Isle of Wight. Photo is of the view from Sandown promenade, where we had dinner. EXHAUSTED. But so happy that our three, plus church folk, got my Mum moved to the Home I'd chosen, even if only for 28 days... anything is better than more time in hospital.

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.