I must go down to the shore again, to the joining of sea
and sky,
And all I ask is a small plane, and a stick to steer it by;
And the prop's kick, and the wind's song, and little waves curling,
And a blue sheen on the sea's face, and puffy clouds swirling.
I must go up in the air again, for the call of flying
wide,
Is a loud call and a clear call, that can not be denied;
And all I ask is a windless day, with golden sun rays falling,
And the gentle swishing of the spray, and the sea-birds calling.
I must go now to explore again, to the vagrant gypsy
life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, when the wind's no whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn, from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and sweet dreams, when the long trip's over.
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