He was a sailor moving from town to town,

With dark brown eyes and a cheeky grin,

He met her, with the fiery red hair

on a choppy, unsettled sea,

She was small and short with a temper to match.

 

Neither one would admit they were lost,

Or in need of an outstretched hand,

For many years, as the waves crashed and groaned,

Calmed and rose,

Their white flags remained unopened and stowed.

 

He was a sailor moving from town to town,

With a taste for liquor and late nights,

Yet, his girl on fire always

Kept him steady, always ready,

To return.

 

Neither one would admit they were lost,

But beneath the pride, there was peace

To be found in each,

United through moving melodies

And waxing lyrical.

 

He was a sailor,

He has dark brown eyes and a cheeky grin,

He found a place in the world with

The girl with the fiery red hair,

Who is small and tries to temper her anger.

 

One would admit they were lost,

Unaccustomed to outstretched hands,

In time, they found their palms fit,

No need to look for peace,

They had already found.

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