Marilyn Shepperson

Rookie (4th September 1949 / Hounslow. Middx)


A ship lies anchored in the mouth of the bay
Small boats alongside it, like chicks round a hen
Aboard men work silently, swiftly
They know what needs to be done
Once all the contraband is in the boats
The men from the land start rowing ashore
The ship raises anchor and makes good her escape
Sails billowing, she is soon out at sea
The rowing boats are dragged up on the beach
Where a string of ponies wait patiently
Quickly now, still no talking
The items from the boats are loaded
Onto the backs of the rough little ponies
The boats are stowed away in a cave
Hidden carefully ready for another night
Then up the steep cliff path to the top
A look round, the way is clear, they dare not stop
Mounted now, they ride for the village
Splitting up to hide the goods in various houses
The ponies are soon safe in their stalls
And soon there's no sign to tell
That the smugglers have been out at all
Yet within the next few days
A lady wil have new French lace
The clerk will have his 'baccy, the parson his brandy
And there will be letters on their way to the spy.

Submitted: Friday, September 29, 2006
Edited: Tuesday, September 28, 2010

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Comments about this poem (Smugglers by Marilyn Shepperson )

  • Rookie Scarlett Treat (9/29/2006 6:28:00 AM)

    You are in rare company, Marilyn, with your ability to spin an epic such as this!
    It is almost like being there myself, feeling the need for silence, and the need to hurry, hurry, hury! And the clerk has his 'baccy. Funny, we here in the Southern USA are very familiar with smugglers as well, because during the Civil War, we were bloccaded, and much French lace, baccy, Port and spies were smuggled in and out. If I could, I would give this a 20 - (Report) Reply

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