The winds tore at the sea that day, and shook our noble craft,
Launched from Coastal Newfoundland, "DROVERVILLE-1" upon her aft.
Captain 'Deer, and the noble crew, all masters of the sea,
had brought along, for song and fun, Poetwheel's Basil and Craigwell C.
Now Basil was a sailor true, despite lacking arms or wits,
and Craigwell was a pirate once, but prone to skirts with slits,
With Balladeer, at the helm, the ship sailed straight and fast,
And the knickers of fair Elvira, our purple colors, atop the mast.
"A ship upon the horizon," came the call from our Crow's Nest,
We tightened our demeaner and Basil donned his frilly vest.
We held our breath, with fear and dread, as the ship came into view,
Whatever beast did man its helm was bloated and green in hue.
Quickly the gruesome find was made, which made us wretch and fall,
The ship was full of corpses, old and rotting one and all.
Good Balladeer was first to move, and swung braveley to its deck
To find a cause or reason for this "grave-boat's" eerie trek.
Basil rightly cowered, but Cragiwell edged him on,
and soon the duo joined him, after putting nighties on.
They found their captain below the deck holding a leather tome
On it's front was written, "Journal of Toerag, King of Poem."
"Today we set sail from Danderville, to find our enemies,
somewhere does that trio sail, upon these hate filled seas.
I've conned this crew of morons into believing that I am wise,
and that a man can live forever just from eating old french fries."
"Many days have passed for us, and no closer do we seem,
to finding Evil Baladeer, and living out my dream.
For surely one and all can see that to be the king of verse,
Balladeer head must be clouded with mighty blows from my purse.
The crew seems slightly wary of my actions as of late,
and they really took quite poorly to the Cod I chose to date.
The broke into my quarters late and stole my poor "Fishy"
How I miss his underbelly, always cold, and wet and squishy.
"Still more days have passed by now since we left the sweet, hard ground,
To the crew I read poems for laughter, but never once do hear a sound.
Perhaps my skills are not so great, and I have fooled myself complete
Now I only miss my mother, bless both her glass eye and swollen feet.
The crew right now is angry, no question of that fact
Upstairs, while I don makeup, they swear a solemn pack.
That if the food grows scarcer, then before their deaths are real,
my pimply ass on sandwiches shall be their final meal.
I fear I will stop writing as a noise grows louder now,
Someone pounding in my door and calling me a sow,
A large and hairy sailor, with teeth so milky white,
has started all the mayhem and taken the first bite."
These words were Toerag's final, and the book did solemnly close,
and the moral of this story should not be lost on friends or foes,
In case you did not get it, redundantly I quip,
for those in league with Toerag you should choose now to ABANDON SHIP!
[This message has been edited by Poetwheel (edited 08-10-99).]