A Little Sea Shanty Poem by Tom Billsborough

Fresh blows the gale towards my home.
Timbers creak beneath the storm.
Sails fill out like bellied girls
The measure of our joy unfurls.
Oh, Come ye soon, my Plymouth roads.

Our vessel's laden to the Gills
With baccy from Virginia's fields
From bonny Norfolk we have come,
From bonny lasses we have known.
Oh, Come ye soon, my Plymouth roads.

Our loved ones wait our safe return,
So steady, helmsman at the stern.
We'll haul upon the sheets in rhyme
To catch the Wester breeze in time.
Oh, Come ye soon, my Plymouth roads.

The huer soon will sound his horn
and all the folks in Plymouth town
Will crowd upon the inner quay.
One there is who waits for me.
Oh, Come ye soon, my Plymouth roads.

A comely lass of Devon stock
She'll don her nicest Sunday frock.
The Norfolk lass is just as fair.
But this one's here. The other's there.
Oh, Come ye soon, my Plymouth roads.