YEARS-SURE-DO-SHIP-OUT
I was young Tom Sawyer
and you Huckleberry Finn -
as down upon Albion
a summery-sun was smiling
like a huge dandelion -
in our donkey field days
viewing the passing girls
going their long-legged ways.
The nearby river ran
towards the beach and sea
where stood the Ship Inn.
John Andrew, smuggler-king he,
dwelt there for a time,
as dwelt we in the grass.
Ships come, ships go,
years, like girls, sail past.
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