Brock The Bosun
(from Sasha Harding’s smart picture…)
The Bosun Brock sett sail,
His rump firmly planted
In the bows of the hull,
Daylight was a small price for un blaireau to pay,
To avoid the constant nocturnal dangers
Of road-kill and a government’s cull…
Bristles quivered in the salty air,
Snout sniffed the ocean’s breeze
Deep in the bows of the hull;
A contented grunt was all he could say,
For there were fish to hunt with a rod and line:
Sole and monkfish to catch and to cull…
Claws made for digging,
Now adjust rigging;
No clan and no tunnels,
Just a boat with no funnels:
He’s evolved, the cantankerous old bugger
And fishes daily in his custom built lugger…
Pete Ray
April 11th 2020
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