Bare Knuckle Barnacle Bill,
Lives in a hole in a hill,
Just out by the sea,
So that he can be,
Closer to what he loves still,

Bill is a sailor by trade,
Ties any knot that's been made,
He loves to eat fish,
At each, every dish,
Shells are his fee when he's paid,

Bill has a sweetie he likes,
She's keen for outings on bikes,
He gets up the nerve,
And learns not to swerve,
He never learned how on trikes,

Sadly she doesn't like him,
She finds him sour and grim,
And try as he might,
The interest is slight,
Bill won't give up with no win,

Under the cover of night,
He kidnaps, gives her a fright,
She kicks and she screams,
For days and it seems,
She'll never give up the fight,

But as time lingers to weeks,
In fits and starts and in peeks,
Bill starts out to woo,
And prove his love true,
That he's the lover she seeks,

As the sea air fills her lungs,
She eventually succumbs,
She fits in, enjoys,
Just one of the boys,
And finds quite a taste for all rums,

Soon she's a natural hand,
Takes sailing under command,
Runs up the main mast,
Forgets all her past,
Fully joins Bill's merry band,

Bill's crew takes to liking her,
Asked to a man they concur,
She treats every one,
Better than Bill's done,
Rumblings are starting to stir,

Mutiny on the high seas,
Isn't for the weak of knees,
But when it's o'er,
He's left on the shore,
With less than an “If you please,”

So Bill is shipwrecked and done,
His men, his ship and his hun,
Left back on the sand,
A mere, lonely man,
Being Bill has not been fun,

A moral, if ever t'was,
To this story, “Just because,
You want strong enough,
And think you are tough,
Might end with less than there was.”

tags: poetry  

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