By: Gus Victoria
He worked long hours
In the master’s house
That for long stood on the hill
Overlooking a kingdom of sorts,
Envy of many,
For the position he carried.
He buttled long and hard
And more than one maid
Did he fraternize;
A little virtue,
A little vice,
Ghosts friendly and nice,
Still he grew restless,
The sea called,
In her deep melody
She called;
A siren’s song.
He answered and left.
That spooky house
On that hill he left,
Not far was the journey,
That found him on the shore
Of the waters
That bore that Wicked Wench,
Her captain wailed as the devil’s own minion,
To go on account;
To join or regret.
The greens of the livery he traded,
For colorful rags
And the pirate’s life.
To pillage and plunder
The lands spotted atop the crow’s nest,
A black flag now announced
The coming of a pirate;
Once servant of an estate,
Now master of the sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment