A Piratical-Radical. Poem by Michael Gale

'Neath the bleary, dead dropped blood...
Dripped to droplets-Stead thy mounded, dirtied mud.

Bones buried by centuries past....
Killed days earlier, below my mast.

Cannon ball fodder, doth be me....
Always before and hung twas me.

Treasures sought by a flag of skull and cross bones...
Pirated earnings of working drones.

Aah! ! ! and timber me shivers...
I'll a-haft to whittle ye timbers.

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum....
Missing a leg, or even a thumb.

We look for treasures, that be buried, well-deep...
Beached upon sanded, beach's reef.

Avast ye be thy plundering spy...
Looting the' towns of a night filled sky.

Walk the plank, or spill ye guts...
Adjoin ye crypt ed, mongrel's mutts.

Buried before the rising sun....
Discovered before the Noble's one.

Chains and galleys left all deserted...
Piratical days well suited and asserted.

Set for sail for conquering days....
A bid farewell, our only ways.