I viewed in my presence
|
My hand on my forehead
|
And sighting the liners
|
Of mad merchant seamen
|
In search of the living
|
Or the spices of China
|
|
Lucy walked gently
|
Between the damp barrels
|
And shut out my eyes
|
With the width of her fingers
|
Said she'd guessed the number
|
Of bales in the back room
|
|
While the seagulls were screaming
|
Lucy was eating
|
Then we hauled up our colors
|
The way the mother had told us
|
And together we just watched the sails
|
|
Lucy I said
|
In a passage of cotton kegs
|
Can we hold hands
|
I'm sure that it's warmer
|
Then the gulls ate the crumbs
|
Of Lucy's sandwich
|
|
-----------------
|
Sails
|
| Elton John |
