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By Peter McEvoy

I will sail for home
by the Denmark Strait
through the wind blown spume
and the raging seas,
hear sea birds cry
in a storm tom sky,
fist the sheets that freeze
when the icebergs loom,
by the Denmark Strait
I will sail for home.

The grey dark seals
will be in my wake
and the flukes of whales
I will see and the slim black fins
as he dolphins skim
through green water
abreast of me.

It is homeward
I will be going
to the firelight
and still, cool air,
to sleep, no dreams of tormented seas,
and there at last
to be at ease.
It is homeward
I will be going, knowing
you will be there.




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