I was a dashing pirate once,

when first I learnt to read.

I fought with sword and pistol.

My gallant crew I’d lead.

We sailed a fleet, black schooner,

the Sea Witch was her name

and filled her holds with treasure

we captured on the “Main.”

 

But now I have grown older,

my fantasies have fled –

among the years and friends long gone

and words I should have said.

No more a tilting deck to pace,

nor canvas clouds o’rhead.

A tiny diesel engine works

to push the hull instead

 

And though the sturdy little hulls

ne’r fill with Louis d’ors.

Still there’s a thrill to earn a tip,

Gold Loony in ones paw.

Avast me hearties, show a leg.

Haul halyard, sheet and line.

She may not be a pirate ship

but four to ten she’s mine.

 
 
David Garlick, Victoria, July, 1995