Morning Departure Poem by Frank Halliwell

Her silhouette was tall and stark
Against the crimson dawn.
Her metal fittings gleamed like gold,
Her polished woodwork shone!

She stood at anchor in the bay
And waited for the tide,
Old Captain Briny's Fantasea;
The poemster navy's pride!

And if you listen you may hear
The chanting of her crew,
The sound of rhyming sea shanties -
..A nautical tattoo!

Her sails, a gleaming Omo-white
Are washed each monday morn
And folded neatly in a pile,
All stitched where they were torn.

They must be neatly pressed of course
And checked to see they're soft,
And everything's presentable
Before they're hauled aloft.

The time has come; the Captain
Takes his place before the wheel,
And tells the crew what he would like,
But he must be genteel!

Please set the royals and top gallants
Good ladies, if you would,
And then I'd like to have the anchor
Pulled up, if I could.

And if we rush and catch the tide
To sail for ports afar,
The Cybersea will beckon us
When we have crossed the bar.

I have one little problem though;
..I cannot see the stars,
For ninety pairs of panty hose
Are hanging on the spars!