The Rolling Seas

 

When the time arrives for me to depart

From the sunlit harbors of the living

Take me aboard a navy fighting ship

And carry me back again to the sea

Order the boatswain to construct a skid

Made of wood and painted with fresh white paint

Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin

Draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes

Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey

Until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing

Muster the funeral party astern

Play taps and slide me into the blue drink

Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling seas

Pass this old sailor in his final sleep

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006