The first time
I dreamed the Major Thirteen
I was just over sixty.
I was dreaming of falling down to sea
With no parachute.
Before to splat the water
I asked the wind
To appease my drop:
So did the wind.
And I started singing.
Say the fishermen
along the Cornwall coast,
if they hear a song
at windy full moon nights:
That’s might be my song.
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