He sailed onwards - through tides high,
I called out to him, and he lowered the sails,
And, he turned as if I had him assailed,
I could make out a bit of his face,
A face that others would miss in his pace,
A smile in his face accompanied a drop of tear,
And, a gloomy contempt to the early fears,
I could still make out stains below his eyes,
Of tears perhaps of sorrow - a token,
Or of pain perhaps, or a heart broken.
He frowned, lowered his eyes and yelled 'What do you want?"
I smiled and sailed, "nothing my friend,
I had no intention of interrupting your hunt"
A surprise glittered in his eyes of my statement or perhaps the end.
"A hunt you say?" he said, "What do you mean?"
And I could see how really hurt he was within.
"Yes, mate. Say, something to fill your palms or just to see?",
"Something? What kind of treasure could possibly spare me?"
"I mean like currency shaped as shellings and dimes?"
"Or perhaps a treasure of some form taken by time".
