He's got salt crusted eyeballs
from the sea and the wind
with a red scarf wrapped around one
to keep the lad in.
Wears a fine woolen bridge-coat
separating shiver from bones,
he is known for sending many a sailor to Jones.
His mates they raise mugs,
and praise him for his brine,
and pray that the ocean
sends each man home fine.
Fer a far worse fate to be the mate
of Cpt. Butcher MacValentine.
He's a crustier dog
then ever there were
with a roar to rival the sea.
And no tear leaves his eye
for no reason on earth.
'tis no place for a tear to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Yarr,
I've scoured the oceans,
I've scoured the seas,
all ta' locate a sea dog
with more salt than me.
But still to this day,
only one lad is e'en,
I spied 'im in the mirror
once while I were shavin'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
To note the tear upon my beard, when no tears have fallen for these past twenty years would be to note my own failing. There would be to admit the beating of my heart, and of my reminiscing on love, I set to sea to leave it, and left the sea to seek it, and both times it was lost. Each man has his story of sorrow. I will finish writing my own on my death bed. At the bottom of the sea.
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Submission Name: Captain Butcher MacValentine
