Widow’s sea
The boat rolls gently on the wave
A small bird’s flying by
We know the sea’s a sailor’s grave
And like the breeze we sigh
The seaweed’s washed up on the beach
It’s scent is on the air
Her sailor’s soul is out of reach
Winds blow the widow’s hair
An eagle soars above the shore
The tide is on the turn
It flies above the sailor’s grave
A widow’s left to yearn
The tern dives in the gentle wave
Then rises to the skies
And flies above the sailor’s grave
A lonely widow cries
Whitebait are caught there in a net
The fisherman’s at sea
There are to be more widows yet
It’s what is going to be
The widow’s weeping by the bay
The orphans by her side
Yet these sad times will pass away
For goodness will abide
The boat lulls on the gentle calm
Soon no clouds in the sky
In stillness is a gentle balm
And widow’s tears will dry
From: “Typists in the towers”