Sound the bell,
for the aimless lass,
prepare our gam,
this weekend at sea
While she's lost,
and looks for fish,
I'll mix the brandy,
and we'll meed past 3
no worry if she's late,
she'll find her way,
to join our ship,
and our bumbling banter,
she's a bit out there,
like hidden treasure,
she's my muse,
and I'm her anchor
- Author: Not ( Offline)
- Published: March 3rd, 2022 13:10
- Comment from author about the poem: Gam; a social meeting or informal conversation
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
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