Moored

She tugs her cables taut and strong As the wind blows out to sea, On high the sea-gulls screaming whirl And strengthen her wish to be free.

She feels with pain the urge to sail Far off from the town of her birth, As day by day she creaks and strains And longs for the ends of earth.

Quite near the quay an office stands Where a man with sea-blue eyes Is watching the gulls in their noisy flight, A flurry of wings on the skies.

He is sick of the sight of chair and desk, He is longing for other lands, For moon-drenched maidens pale and slim And islands with coral sands.

A moment's sin in years long past . . . An unseen mooring holds him fast.