Has no one before


Watered the floor


With the tears of


The poor

Sailorman?

Months out at sea


Is no place to be


No loved ones in sight


And to never feel free.


Alas!

The seas are oft rough


The boatswain is tough


The work never ends


And it’s never enough.


Drat!

The days yawn into fog


And the doldrums do bog


And create such an itch


Not relieved by the grog.


Hic!


So, any port from the foam


It doesn’t have to be home


Just some food that tastes real


Without maggots that roam.


Sigh!

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2021 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL