PSTHURISM!! the skipper growled, as he looked ashore from the helm. Oh the wind in the rigging howled. No shelter for us, the land is lee, from it blows the scent of Eucalyptus and tea-tree. And leaning over the side of The Passing Cloud, wishing for feel of land was the Vagabond Godfrey.
PSTHURISM!! The wind made that whispering, moaning sound, a long, dark night on the rock hard ground. Godfrey did not sleep well for nearby in a tree, two owls hooted ,who? who may this vagabond be?.This is not a place for a poet like you, the wind calls it Tapu, come morning ride on, young vagabond.
PSTHURISM!! Whispered to Godfrey the summer breeze. It dried and warmed him as neath the great Macrocarpa he sat at his ease. Zephyr, let us be kind to the traveler today, let him forget.. The days we sent only head winds and wet. Send him a tailwind, fair breeze tease his hair. At evensong find him a deep, grassy place to lay. Wind in the trees, be kind to Godfrey today. PSTURISM!!.