E. Egorov, Elena Minina The White Ship

The ocean blue, green, black, or white, an ancient memory the dreams of time And when the moon is full and high the secret lore and tales of yore do come alive Across the line out of the deep There, from the south comes The White Ship Walk on the bridge of the moonlight beams An glide away on silent waves into the dreams Sailing, wandering Far away, passing by The lilylined shore