I see how you weep for your son,

laid prone upon grave under trees.

But I’m not anywhere near the land,

As I lay, where I drowned, deep at sea.


I was only ten,

When you sent me away to sea.

How I cried and cried for your touch,

how the other young boys had mocked me.


I was only eleven,

When the master beat me black and blue

and all I could think of was home,

and how far I floated from you.


I was only twelve,

I was laughed at and whipped for my crime

Of trying to run back to you;

For your son for you, still did pine.


I was only thirteen,

and finally had proven my worth,

I had plans to move ship to another;

having written off to land for my berth.


I was barely fourteen,

Sent high up aloft in a storm

and oh how slippery the yards are,

and how hard and fast was my fall.


I’d have rather I’d fell on the deck,

and died quick and fast from short fall.

Instead I plunged into cold seas,

my limp lifeless frame seen by all.


Down, down I went to the bottom,

thick with life, thick with wrecks, thick with death.

And there, there my remains they do linger

pale, wrinkled and broken in form.


So whilst you weep by my graveside

are you numb ‘cause my soul is not there

do you regret sending me to the sea Ma?

As I rot, where I dropped to the depths.





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