WHAT THE SEA KNOWS OF SAILORS
An old salt lives in a seafaring town|
Where at eve from a pub he watches the sea.
And ponders the times she’d near took him down;
He thinks to himself, “she’ll never have me”.
Through a forest of spars, the sea looks back
At a huddled figure in a round yellow hole
And moans, “I’ve no need of thy corpse, old jack,
When for years I’ve already had thy soul...”.
Joseph I. Middlesworth
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