Friday, May 01, 2009

#436: The Last Raid

The pirates stood surrounded on the foredeck,
outnumbered twenty redcoats to a man.
And every buccaneer knew what a sore neck
awaited him before his feet touched land.

And so the Captain drew his Spanish saber,
his Mate the curved blade of the Saracen,
and, having set themselves this final labor,
sang out courageously to all the men:

"Ahoy there, Lads! For yonder sails a frigate,
Its gut as fat as any English lord's,
and rum to drink from mug and glass and spigot,
the finest on the seas--so Up your Swords!"

The soldiers turned, the muskets came about--
and two, or one, almost had time to shout.

No comments: