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!
