R.I.P.
George Andrews
1924-2013
Home is the sailor, home from the sea:
Her far-borne canvas furled
The ship pours shining on the quay
The plunder of the world.
Home is the hunter from the hill:
Fast in the boundless snare
All flesh lies taken at his will
And every fowl of air.
'This evening on the moorland free,
The starlit wave is still:
Home is the sailor from the sea,
The hunter from the hill.
—A.E.HOUSEMAN