A porthole to look out of, crest upon crest, wave to the ocean, spot the whale, it’d be a shock if he waved back now. little grey seal barking like mad, wearing his bow tie, what a cad.
Crescent of the moon will be gone too soon, replaced by the shade of a cow, riding on a spoon, the stars are dancing until dawn, He’ll be sleeping until noon.
Punishment with self loathing, bloated torment, the Head Chef is smoking on the port, for him it is the end of the last resort, thousands overfed, fattened on roast pork, Mutton and Jam, ridiculing the savoury beef and calling it a sham.
A view is beyond where the sky meets the sea, ignorant with wealth, sitting in the sun, drowning on whisky, he ‘bows down’, “yes sir’ says the courteous Philippino sage, pouring more scotch on a meagre wage.
Diamonds sparkle on the withered old hand, beautiful sounds of classical genre from the onboard band, away into the night her lovely gown glistens, dancing a waltz with the braided Captain Sissons.
What a scene when the ship comes in, friends and family standing nigh, cheering and waving flags raised high, in all its splendour this marvellous boat, wearing a grand whitened coat. Passengers pleased to be ashore, not sure why, how or what they went there for.
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