Poetry

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As i stretched out on my lumpy bed,some thought's inside my head,about
a ship if you please;on a panel of my wardrobe inset,it has a mast and a
flag on high,while underneath its Bow on water's still no waves too thrill,its
owner never sailed the seven seas;just a landlubber i do be, my kit is in my
box;has had some unwanted knocks,though not from crags or rocks,be it
more decending from a hoist's failed fallsto Earth,brakes not alert hence
a crash a cert;or pully wheel when rope has frayed,just a part of life's own
drama then, on to another site with no Sea in sight,am no sailor only a
modest journeyman a ship in view with a timber crew,unseen not new,
so old yet true.
Joe.

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