Lines randomly composed while listening to a band from the Maritimes in the Dubh Linn Gate Pub, Whistler, British Columbia
Oh. the herring were running wild and fast
as we sailed out from St. John
and the cod were plump as Mary’s arse
on a Sunday morning after early mass
with sausages on the griddle, rashers in the pan
with a whack fol de diddle dairy oh
with a whack fol de diddle dan.
(my first and, hopefully, my last attempt at a seafaring song…a note to my readers:
please drink responsibly or you will end up writing rubbish like the above…)
Stopdraggingthepanda 
As always, your tongue in cheek (cod tongue?) approach to poetry makes me laugh. I would gladly drink irresponsibly if it produced such delightful rubbish.
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Thanks Suzanne and thanks for the encouragement, being responsible is highly overrated!
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