I wish winds upon the sails of my cannon-sided vessel,
Leaving the images of York to my memory alone.
Alas, these were the moments that I oft' tried to tell her:
Of the sea and its abilities to draw dry men from their home.
Oh, Southern waters I'd cast my shirt open to your warming;
And, Oh, wintery ice I'd break thee apart aside the rest.
But lo, I fear my cannons fire is only my mind's creating.
Still, these exist in dreams as the seconds love best.
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