We departed Plymouth, England in the ninth month of sixteen twenty,
Our ship was named The Mayflower, no doubt you’ve heard about her
We passengers numbered one hundred and two,
another thirty comprised our courageous crew.
But a small ship, one hundred and six foot bound for a land of plenty,
The Atlantic seas showed no severity as we sailed through September.
October brought the change, battered by strong northerly winter gales
The Mayflower shaken mercilessly water leaked as structures strained
We pitched and rolled, we sluggardly slaves of sea sickness
The ship’s main beam bent n' cracked under stormy duress
William Button he died, but our prayers showed us god always prevails
After two months at sea we sighted sand shores, beyond green terrain
November ninth, sixteen twenty we set our eyes on Cape Cod at first
We were supposed to sail down to land by the Hudson River’s mouth
But the cunning, shallow shoals of Pollock Rip
Conspired to thwart the fragile Mayflower ship
They ran far, up to Nantucket Island, yet all aboard might die of thirst
Thus we returned to Cape Cod Bay, no chance to winter further south
A.McTiernan
