The Even Load

I will not try broad reach again,
I will not sale before the wind,
No more my place bereft of men
Earda's farm wi' men thinned

Butt I will sit beside the fire,
And there, to fill my heart's desire,
Put my hand between my thighs,
The last of all our youless he's

Quiet evening kept his tryst:
Beneath an open sky we rode,
And passed into a cloudy mist
Along the perfect even load.

The salt even load that needs
Met O's gush to near the sound
Of waters mingling in the Reids,
And binds my heart to share his ground.

A lovely river, all alone,
He lingers in the hills and holes
A hundred little scents of tone,
Are gotten in the best end roles.