Flying Kites Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

'It was them there flyin' kites of 'ers done it,' said he,
'Runnin' down the Tropics a sight she was to see,
A pictur' to see with 'er sails both large and small,
An' 'er pretty skysails atop of 'em all.'

'Bill was on the stunsail boom workin' on the gear,
Somethin' or another as wasn't runnin' clear;
She was loggin' all o' sixteen, an' me at the wheel an' all,
An' I 'eard a feller shoutin', an' then I see Bill fall.'

'The wind was on the quarter an' freshenin' to a gale,
An' you dursen't shove the hellum down with all that press o' sail:
The ol' man done 'is best, but it warn't no good to 'im -
She was loggin' sixteen steady, an' Bill, 'e couldn't swim.'

'So we squared 'er off afore it like a tower o' cloud,
Runnin' down the Tropics so loftly an' so proud,
Runnin' down the Tropics a sight she was to see,
But - it was them there flyin' kites of 'ers drowned Bill, said he.