Poems (Forrest)/Sailorman
SAILORMAN
Sailorman, sailorman,With your great brown arm and your big thick wrist And the bulldog neck of you,In how many harbours have you landed and kist, In how many harbours blue?Sailorman, sailorman, with the firm fine mouth,And the eyes that are grey distances and warm wild South!
Creak of the hawsers in the sweet Trade wind, Splash of the anchor, ripple of the line,Coconuts or rotting shell on white sands to find Beer or rum or brandy or a pale French wine,"On the scoot" with pockets full, sick, with money spent,Life and death have diced for you round a continent."Bosca" up in Sydney town, "tres bon" in France,"Segyen" out in Egypt, is your verdict of the dance!
Sailorman, sailorman,With your swinging arm and your rope-rough wrist And the muscled neck of you,In how many harbours have you quarrelled and kist, In how many harbours blue?