The salty spray of Spring tides wafts in through my boarded window
my feet start to itch, my wander-lust, I have the verve to voyage
I’ll build a boat, but first I must plan the materials I need
into my bedroom, where I used to sleep, for I must rummage, and forage.
In here, my ‘man-cave,’ my own testament to Easter Island,
abandoned adventures, fallen Idols, forsaken sheets and spars,
I will construct a rugged little vessel
and slip off, come April, to follow the stars.
My ‘Sea Urchin’ measures a fathom, it’s all I could fathom
it’s not for fame, it’s adventure I seek
that wind’s got stronger, whipping up the waves
we never quite made it, to Tamerton Creek.
Tony Bradley
