Dream of a Proper Pyrate

A wishful tale of man's potential taken (with great liberty) from the story of Samuel Bellamy A frigid blast of the nor'westerly breeze, the coldest wind upon these seas ripples the leathery skin of his cheeks as he scans the horizon for what they seek Their quest's not one for the faint of heart yet they know the risks from the very start, pain and death are always nigh as they chase their prey 'neath a starry sky He stands steadier yet, on one old peg than most men do on two strong legs, upon the bridge; down in the hold, his strength's a legend that's often been told The sailcloth's flapping, the cold wind's howl the waves that crash across the bow, are his company as he stands watch this night and readies his heart for a bloody fight Though it's still dark, his eagle eyes are quick to spot their chosen prize he plots the course to set upon, their quarry at the crack of dawn His life has taken a circuitous route from a privateer to this noble pursuit he'd robbed the rich of silver and gold but never before had he been so bold He's wanted this for many a year to liberate those facing the auctioneer, the Whyda 's cargo was a shameful one, Sultana would free them at the rise of the sun The quartermaster roused the sleeping crew as the sky did pale, their courage grew no treasure this time, no golden plunder their plan is one of human wonder To free those seized by evil hands to be men's chattel in a far off land 'twas sin against God in all of their eyes, liberty for others then, would be their prize