The water glistened,
Under the afternoon sun.
I walked up the deck,
Eyeing on the swaying flag.
Ahead the steam wriggled up,
Reshaping the horizon like the smeared canvas,
Being shaken tenderly.
There aren't no lands in sight,
There aren't no place for us to anchor.
The seagull glided past the churning clouds,
Leaving the trail of a fatigue soul.
The wind howled and drove the waves ,
Dashing them on the hull.
I stumbled and almost fell,
And the planks groaned under the impact.
The crew came by,
Questioning whether to continue.
The seagull sailed towards the distance,
Leaving the trail under the setting sun.
The water glistened like the carpet of shinning stars.
We shall find the land, the place for us to port.
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