It seems like only yesterday
you were at my side on deck,
in the times we’d enjoy
your wonderful cooling.
But that time is no more, and you must have sailed away,
Mr. Sailor.

The disease that washed the life from you,
Mr. Sailor, like the tide carrying away shells,
even after you stayed so strong against the waves…
Why did you go?
I know precisely why.
But myself won’t let me accept it.

Your wise old eyes, shining like the ocean
on your weary, wrinkled face
always teased in the right moments.
You would show me how to tie the knots,
as if I was your crew,
Mr. Sailor.

You left us all,
Mr. Sailor,
To follow your little girl
into the sickness that sweeps the land in tides.
There is no cure for that illness,
nor in our sunken hearts.

Everyone else might have moved on,
Mr. Sailor,
but to me, you are a ship, with an anchor,
docked with all the others
and I sail you all every night out on the open waters
when I can’t sleep.

Sad, you left the world
and these wonderful, beautiful waters
and shame you had to see the storming side of it
within your final days.
You were great, and always will be,
Mr. Sailor.

I will remember you,
my friend, the compass that guided,
and I hope that whatever desert island you are marooned on,
I hope it’s nicer there.
Because you fought to get there, and you deserve the smoothest
of sailing from here.
Mr. Sailor.