Mara: Song of Mary Gordon

A friend of mine recently started a little role-playing game, in which we are buccaneers sailing the great Atlantic. I wrote this shanty as a result.

Some men have chosen to beat their path

Through forests of birch or pine.

And others have chosen to tread their miles

‘Cross the sandy deserts of time.

But I have chosen to sail the seas

And walk this way of brine.

Oh Mara, my mistress, withhold not thy treasures

From me, though they be thine.

 

A seafarer’s life have I chosen to live,

Or rather, the sea chose me

From the rocky coast of the Isle of Skye

And the bustling town of Portree.

Out at the helm of this ruddy ship,

I feel so wild and free.

I was not born to till the ground,

I was born to sail the sea!

 

Sail I this vessel at Hawkins’ command

To reach the Floridian coast,

Or travel to Norway, Morocco, or Spain,

Or meet an island host.

So freely, so swiftly, we move through the water

As a dolphin or maybe a ghost.

Be it Ireland, Labrador, Greenland, Nantucket,

I shan’t but love Mara the most!