Nobody from Bath snores.

Hoisting the sails was a chore.

Many heads were bashed on the frame of the door.

Winds started to roar.

The crew was wet to the core (it’s June tomorrow by the way).

Below deck was sea sickness galore.

But the private ensign still soared.

Most watched and adored, I still sat floored.

Record in chunks on the floor.

Nobody dare explore the shore.

Most still begging for more, as Port watch bought the store.

Bare chips used as décor, while the people in bath, don’t snore.

Written by S. Charlton (Port watch)