37 South Poem by Mark Walters
37 South
Down 37,
Stormin South.
Hankerin for Redfish,
Is brewin in my mouth.
Goin fishin,
Makin my way,
Landry's at the T-head;
Corpus Christi Bay.
Lured inside,
Grilled fish smells,
"Feed us", we chide;
Waiters ring dinner bells.
We're the catch of the day, I'd say!
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: vacation
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5/2/2024 9:54:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
