The Maritime Suction
On this desolate beach, a lost trinket
On this desolate poet, a lost concept
On a distant shore miles from land
(Though many might not even think it)
A hole in hull is cause to sink it
For the ultimate peace, a sound precept:
For the ultimate joy, a sound night's sleep
For a decent snore, don't count sheep
Though it's been quite a while since she slept
If well trained she'd be rather adept
If the quartermast snaps, oh I don't know
If the quartermast falls, oh will I drown?
If the captain says "Swim for it!"
(Though in a calm and quiet voice)
Ye'll, sweet sailor, have nairy a choice.
| Contributors: | Apsley, dan, Nigel Sly, Beefy, fester, Grayman, Englishqueen. |
| Poem finished: | 11th April 2002. |