Benn Gunn
Benn Gunn
Precious alone here I dwell, gently rusting in solitude.
All withered, all quivered,
to love you, if ... I had half a chance.
Mine island twould be, could be but paradise.
Hey I say! Nay I say! Its ‘em dead pirates,
who in mine infernal dreams, search , seek me.
So, Ben Gunn half a man, became a prophet.
With rag tag beard,
talks to himself does he? Does me?
Fer tis good and mad I be.
Many many years to sit and stare,
stare far out to sea.
Seeking the love of God.
Fancy I to spy, a sail or snail.
Silver, I hated ‘im, but wish with all mine heart
a pirate’s heart, all torn black and blue,
the buccaneer was here too.
Oh! T’would be mine friend, like you.
Now tis windy in ‘em hollows
a devil dwells there, wickedness itself.
I’m a feared till morn, fer in mine crusty, rusty dreams,
a one legged man is born.
When ya mad, ya humble, and wear a pirate’s hat.
When ya sad, you’ll stumble,
watched by the eyes of a large red cat.
Precious alone here I dwell, gently rusting in solitude.
All withered, all quivered.
to love you, if ... I had half a chance.
Copyright © Carrington Marshall | Year Posted 2012
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