Boot+Kitty=Poetry in motion
"He's just a dirty sailor," he heard the women say,
As he struggled with his seabag and proceeded on his way.
Tis true he hadn't bathed in a fortnight, maybe more,
And flies refused to land on the filthy clothes he wore.
But he was still convinced there was a woman made for he,
A woman who loved old sailors regardless of the breeze.
So he kept his sextant ready and laid in a steady course,
For her waiting sighs and hugs on some distant shore.
She would be his soulmate, never having had a bath.
A lovely complement to the all the fragrances' he had.
They'd sit in the finest restaurants, and sip the finest wine,
Before they'd be requested to dine out with the swine.
She'd wipe her face upon her sleeve whenever her nose ran,
And rub her hands on her chest to make them clean again.
She'd be pretty as she sat with her knees held far apart,
Oh, she'd be the envy of every eye, this maiden of his heart.
I know what you are thinking as you hold your noses high
This isn't the kind of woman who could make a sailor sigh.
But you haven't seen a sailor who has given up the sea,
To become a reclusive poet, like old Toerag be.