A simple delight, a pleasant clink Made from wood or bone or metal, linked Motion plays a soothing tune The wind given another voice to croon What am I?

I be a silver doubloon in the sky, Guiding ships, though I have no eye. What be I, ye scurvy dog, tell me or die?

I marched once tall in inland soil, then felt the ocean’s call, Now I keep time with creaking ropes and hear the bosun’s bawl. No mast nor sail do I command, yet still I ride the brine, Passed from storm to storm like verse between the beats of time. I wash ashore to end the song where foamy choruses stood. What am I, sung by wind and wave, the sailor’s silent wood?

I drift in silence, pale and grand, a frozen form where oceans stand. Above the waves I gently gleam, below I’m larger than I seem.