Come Young Pirates, Part X - Poor Exiles Of Our Race Poem by Captain Cur

With sleeping waves in deep repose
The breathing ocean fell and rose
Our ship, the moon a trove of stars
Nestled gently within her arms.
In the quietness of her might
Quivering softly through the night
Waif like murmurs traveling near
Indistinguishable to our ear,
Exulting as our passion grew
Commending us, the privileged few,
We laid our bodies down to rest
Upon the softness of her breast.
In dreams our longing hearts resigned
To the pulsing rhythms of her tides
The love she showed, her flowing grace
For we poor exiles of our race.
Unschooled, unkempt of simple mind
Of common traits were most inclined
Yet prayers we prayed on beads of gold
Would sink within her velvet folds.
If to hell our souls consigned
She bore no illness with her eye
And swore to raise us from the depths
To her alone belong in death.