Oh to be sailing over the sea,
by Tango Tango
hull down, with the shore on the lee.
Hearing the sound of water dashing past the hull,
and the mournful cry of a ravenous gull.
Pitting ones skills against natures wiles,
not another soul in sight, for miles, and miles.
Then come the end of the day,
dropping anchor in a small secluded bay.
Relaxing in the cockpit, supping a drink,
watching the sun, as below the horizon it doth slowly sink.