Anchored 'neath moons harbour,
and waiting for a tide,
I 'spect the beans and rice
will have to subside.
The winds are low,
and the sails are torn,
with no fuel for the lamp
and the wick is worn.
The paint, she's peeling,
from stern to bow, and
the rudder, she's broken
against the rocks somehow.
I could go on and on,
but what's the use,
simply said, this ol' boat's
had some abuse.
So sadly I take note,
of just where I am, and
I'm beginning to think
I should've just swam.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Awwww a sweet ending J! It alway look easy in hindsight though, I've been doing a bit the same myself tonight. Everything happens for a reason and it ultimately is usually to aid our greater good! I don't swim well, so this is my lifebelt so to speak with cliched tongue! lol I like the description of your old boat! It reminded me of me, peeling paint and all! Thanks for that! lol Just jesting. Ship ahoy captainette Tai