He was not gnomelike,
He was no pasty man,
He was an ice pilot,
He had frozen friends.
He worked frigid water,
Since he was ten,
Now he's over eighty,
And he's going out again.
Spent life in the crows nest,
He liked scouring the sea,
Worked the wharf at sunset,
Hale and hearty was he.
He was not fuzzy,
He was sharp as a tac,
Born in Key West,
And said he ain't going back.
To learn how to swim,
Was his only wish,
Being a salt sucker,
He liked to think like a fish.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem