(painting by Richard C. Moore, The Clipper Ship)
The Pirate stood on the Black Fear’s deck,
A spyglass to his eye,
High above, Her sails billowed
Boisterous to the sky.
His boots clacked as he paced the deck,
His sword upon his hip,
He ordered the skull and crossbones flown,
But he never loosed his grip,
Upon the map he held so dear,
A treasure to his heart,
Oh how the captain dearly loved
That weathered wrinkled chart!
Soon enough the anchor dove
To seek a sandy hold,
This island was the place alright,
It smelled of richest gold.
Through the jungle, on they trekked,
Hacking through the lush,
Until the jungle swallowed them whole,
With hungry vines and brush.
Soon enough they reached the cave,
And with their torches bright,
Ventured on into the dark,
Their fiery pitch cast light.
And then ahead- It couldn’t be!
There sat an ancient chest,
Locked with chains all rusted o’er,
The cave’s own lonely guest.
The captain kneeled reverently
And then his hand stretched out
The secrets that reside within
He could only dream about.
He broke the chains quite easily
With a creaky, cracking crunch,
And. . .
Jimmy, please stop playing now,
Come down and eat your lunch.