Marjorie Meeker

From “At Sea”

To A. B. G., U. S. S. M.——

Far out at sea a sail is drifting—
Like a petal,
Like a white moth,
Like a scrap of paper blown by the wind.
O white-petal sail—
Like a moth,
Like a scrap of paper,
Like me!
O ebb and flow and infinitude of the sea—
As strange, as insurgent, as inevitable
As my love!

MY lover is a sailor.

If he misses me at all

The gold-eyed daisies tell me—

One—two—three—the petals fall.

In some sunny southern harbor,

Where the girls line up to see

Les Americains—“Bonjour, M’sieur!”—

He will pass them by for me.

Every day I greet a sailor

Walking lonely down the street—

Give him cigarettes, a sweater,

Or a box of something sweet;

And I tell him, if he’s thinking

Of a girl somewhere out west,

Not to worry or be lonesome,

Just keep liking her the best.

One—two—three—the daisies tell me,

Four—five—six—the petals drop;

Seven—eight—nine—yes, he still loves me,

He will never, never stop!

And those black-eyed French cocottes

With strange words upon their lips,

Waiting there with smiles of welcome

For the sailors from the ships—

Much—a little—not at all—

(He’s so far away, so free!)

Loves me not—but last, he loves me!—

He will pass them by for me.

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