The ports of old
Never fully forsake them
For their loyal harmonies
Remain
In each wayward soul

Thoughts rove
And swiftly recover
In their sultry
Sunbathed embrace

Where great endeavors
Are to commence
And fellowships part
For their own distant morrow’s

These memories ignite
The quiet hearth of valor
Propelling the meek
To convene, with destiny

Where home
Is certain to prevail
In each backtracking heart
In every limb
Plagued with wanderlust

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