I built the boat with planks from fancy walls
of houses high on hills outside the town
where ghostly vines and molds now rule the halls
and decks and dormers slowly tumble down.

I hewed long oaken oars that really row
and cut myself a pole of common cane
and far out on the Delta I will go
and smell the salt wind blowing from the Main.

But though the fish are back once more I feel
an aching notion that I'm wasting time
I miss the motor and the gaudy reel
and sinful cities full of smog and crime.

Alone and rootless I set out to roam
'til aimless drifting fin'ly takes me home.