AUTHOR'S NOTE: We enjoyed some of our summers sailing and one vacation I spent the nights star gazing with my book of constellations, fastidiously playing the childhood Matching game. During the hot, lazy, days, when the wind would stir, I was curled in my cacoon, reading. As I delved into historical accounts, I imagined how it might have been for my grandfather, when he served, and for countless others preceding him, hundreds of years before.
Mary Rose (1545)
by Nicole Wright, 1998
published in The Falling Rain, 2000
The boat gently rocks beneath me
Just as if, it is so slowly
Making love to the water below.
And I lay on my bed dreaming,
Of the love that I was leaving,
So very far away; My sweet Rose.
And while I'll fight many battles,
She'll be writing sweet love letters;
Encouraging during times of woe.
But just for now I will lie here;
My comfort, the sweet froth of beer.
Eyes heavy, Rose; The crews frantic "No!"'s.
As the boat gently rocks beneath me,
Just as if, it is oh so slowly,
Making love to the water below.
