The Singing Sailors

sitting at a bus-stop
hood up to the rain
watching little paper boats
sailing down the drain
the jolly tars within them
all ruddy cheeked and so
shout ahoy as they passed by
then slipped on down below
I heard them underneath the road
their hearty voices deep
echoes of sea shanties
beneath the storm swept street
until at last the bus arrived
and I was on my way
I hope to hear them sing again
on other rainy days

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