Nair rest the mind eye: trappings
ensnarement in blindnesse die
a dialogue here within
read beyond
Oh when the winds change
direction no one'evr knows
the future of the story to unfold
insidious wickednesse or mutiny
n'er retreat but eye for eye
the humble boots man tread
on the land once fed by the
treasure gold and blood of red
fortune to be made or lost never
to return
Aye the cheats to fire and burn
matt'r nought he be on land or sea
may be strick'n wrought with
treacherie
Oh damnedest soul of griefe and
tainted swive
Beshackle to thee Miss Fortune
as ye bride.
Miss Fortune!
Ah love it! Nicely done archaic poetry.
Thank you Mr Jones...i
Thank you Mr Jones...i appreciate your comments