Island of the Wind Child

There’s an island off the coast of western Honshu

Where six men in kayaks camp beneath moons

Sometimes a crescent, sometimes a half

But beware a full moon

The king tide might just steal your craft.

When the weather is fair and the sea breeze is soft

They paddle through seas without peak or trough

But when the wind blows and the sea takes a turn

It can swamp a good boat, a good man

Send him home in an urn.

Behold this small island

We call the Wind Child

With its short stretch of sand

And a forest gone wild

A forest with creatures that crawl in the night

Shake your boots in the morning

Or you might get a fright.

And what about food?

Well the tucker’s divine

Cooked by old salts who like beef with their wine

On a beach in the dark over blazing hot coals

Beef and wine for a crew whose thanks is a howl.

You see, this crew has a name

The Salty Dogs they are called

A roving rabble in boats for whom

Nothing appalls

Nothing appalls?

Well, there may be one thing

It’s sand in the stew

True grit is not king!