When I strain for a glimpse of the Otway Light,
Through a dense sea mist and a surging tide,
When the unseen cliffs on either side
Emerge with a shout in a starfilled night
“Breakers ahead, land within sight”.
Then all my special skills must be applied
And Neptune’s avarice unsatisfied.
My anchors fore and aft fail to bite
The smooth and sandy bottom and, too late,
The mainsail, fully hauled, cannot prevent
The fatal impact and the precious souls
Are drowned and dead and I my wife forsake.
I die a sailor, please do not lament.
Above my grave the southern ocean rolls.