Twenty miles between me and home.

Twenty miles, the sailor thought.

Before there'd been nights he had fought.

And even when it was comfort he sought

A bright diabolic sun is all he got.

And many a night gathered and ended

Many a swords he picked and defended

When every brick of his prison fell

To let cold wind to his prison cell

Rains he got there waiting for him

Warm, not cold, to his skin they seem

He knew not how he walked the leagues

Until he saw vines of grapes and figs

With a scent of woman he had long known

In every morning that his life had shown

From the castle window where he cried and played

So close now, he could hear as garden leaves swayed

Yet closer he walked he found fear and pain

Not joy but risks of losing it again

Home with just dead leaves coming to his way

Yet home has never seemed so far away.