Found this half-finished shanty in a notebook from a while back. I hope it serves you in some way. Maybe a Godchild’s battle cry?
The black waves below, they ebb and they flow
Sinking and rising, with white-silver waves
And swirling in time with seafarer’s rhyme
Calling mourn’flly through passages of countless days
Now I heard a tale of a mother at sea
In great brewing storm birth’d a child
The waves tried as they might, but she dared cling so tight
Her knuckles were white, beast’s eyes wild
And the waves said to she, “if your lad’s strong as ye,
A great warrior he shall become!”
But the mother just laughed, and she beckoned the storm
The twain danced on the ship ‘till the tempest was done…
The twain danced on the ship ‘till the tempest was done
No comments:
Post a Comment