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
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