The soft tread of the heel on steel,
And ship's plates cold as dawn.
Aye, dawn a lookout watch ahead,
O'er seas that we were borne.
We tread the lonely fo'csle deck,
Our gait will dance to rhyme -
With spars that sigh, roll and pitch;
We're bound for tropic clime.
Oh, Lord! The night is long, so long;
The lonely watch that keeps;
The night parade while stars cascade -
While shipmates’ restless sleep.
Must peer ahead.......... - the Pier Head!
Now there's a thought that warms.
To be back home in Liverpool;
A haven from the storms.
By Michael Walsh