Sea Fever
By John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
 
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
 
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Bugs On My Face

Wind in my hair and dawn on my brow
Fresh air and freedom and no one around
All to myself this glorious morn
The new day’s cool breath is starting to warm
Just one caveat I’m learning to hate
The ocean’s cool spray is salted to taste
And I’m not alone,
I got bugs on my face
There’re June bugs and May flies
On summer’s wind ride
God knows when they‘re born
Now I know when they died
A cornucopia of natures waste
Protein rich and vitamin laced
A moment of silence for the sacrifice,
That’s made this day by the bugs on my face
There are moths and mosquitoes, uniramia all
The study of insects in academia hall
Up close and personal I'd have taken a class
And sought other ways to mount them on glass
Pinned them neat and evenly spaced
Gently placed in a trophy case
The marvelous beauty,
Of the bugs on my face
Marooned on an isle or imprisoned perhaps
I’d be more receptive to musical whaps
Of marinade morsels smack on my lips
Providing pate and natural dip
Pull up beside, I’ll set you a place
Plenty to share, so grab a full plate
Please help yourself,
To the bugs on my face