Fond Farewells

From all of us at Number Three,
We hope you do not drown at sea.

Dan, as you leave to sail the seas,
We beg that you will heed our pleas –
The sea is cold and deep and wet,
And Yorkshire seems a safer bet.

When in a leaky tub you sail,
Or end up swallowed by a whale,
We truly hope the moral’s clear:
The sea’s a place that you should fear.

While you are stranded, run aground,
Or locked in ice off Puget Sound,
We need you to reflect full well:
The sea’s a dank and storm-tossed hell.

When siren song about you winds,
And overthrows your sailors’ minds,
Think on this haunting song instead –
You’re far off from your soft dry bed.

Should pirates out of Barbary,
Spread red blood ‘cross the azure sea,
As skull and bones run up your mast,
Think fondly of your peaceful past.

And should the Kraken’s writhing arm
Ensnare you, seek to do you harm,
We simply wish you’d understand
Such things don’t happen on the land.

For if we cannot you dissuade
From staying where you can use spades
From all of us at Number Three,
We hope you do not drown at sea.

I mentioned recently my wish to start posting execrable poetry on here. This is first expression of that intention.

It was written when a colleague left work to join the navy. “Number Three” is not the actual name of the workplace, but scans and rhymes the same, so I figure it’s an acceptable substitution.

More poetry


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