Captain's Prayer

Over the headway there reads in small letters
white and gilded with edges in gold
"Yonder lies Norway, and Greenland, and Iceland;
Be ye now wary, for the ocean is cold."

Under the Inn Door a Captain in greatcoat,
stomps off the ice and the mud from his boots
rubbing his mustache and beard he sits down
Betwixt and between sailors deep in cahoots

Hears he the chatter and scuttlebutt passed
Hears he the wonder at the storm outside
Grabs he his mug of hot coffee and wonders
How many sailors have sailed their last tide

Over the jukebox and radio blasting
Hears the warm throng a message relayed;
The Bartender raises his voice to a thunder:
"Hoi! All you sailors, a ship's been delayed!"

Suddenly the chatter and laughter subside
The scuttlebutt stops, the gaiety ceases
Gaunt faces and worn eyes toward window are pointed
mutters begin and brows reveal creases

Each tired sailor knows that it ought to be
Him and his comrades in danger that night
Each cup of grog downed while looking to sea
Is downed in the hope that they'll make it alright

The Captain sighs deeply, and pushes his mug
away to the bartender, asking for more;
He's seen these storms come and go, like stains on the rug
that sits out for sailor's feet that walk through the door.

Even though cynical, and salty is he,
He is but a sailor, and knows the rites well
He offers a prayer for the calm of the sea,
and that by tomorrow, they'll hear the ship's bell.

Says he as he trudges down dock in the wind,
bent over, hunched up against the force of the squall;
"Lord, be my guide, and my lighthouse forever;
for the Ocean is big, and my ship is so small."