by Garland Davis

Far above in the sky, Albatross rides the Westerly winds

Above the horizon, white clouds rise in pristine majesty

The bow cuts the waves as the ship slips ever Westward

The wake stretches endlessly, from whence she came

Our sanity lies ahead, a sailor’s paradise, on the Pacific Rim

Go with us there, to our land of love, once again

Where we will quietly and slowly regain

Memories of our youth for the years that remain