A light verse on an old sailor
I met this word on a yellow bus,
Bound for Bolgatanga in the North.
I have met similar words on t-shirts and shorts,
Their wearers as ignorant as me,
They have no idea what those words mean.
Now good old Mr. King,
Blind as a mole,
Toothless as a baby.
He was a sailor in his day,
And travelled the world about.
He knew words like bonjour and guten morgen,
And definitely knew what Oranje meant.
The night before his birthday,
He threw a party fit for a King.
He wouldn't take chances,
None at all.
What if he slept and never woke up?
He had turned a hundred less one day,
That was good enough for him.
The band struck a beat,
The music began.
It was a sailor's ditty.
Good old Mr. King,
Thought he was at sea,
Writer's Cramp (sole entry, winner)