ON a ship's poop I'd like to lie, if I could have my way, With over it the weather-cloths, thumped loudly by the spray; A sputtering fire between two stones, edging it like a mound, A pot perched on them, boiling brisk, with bubbling empty sound; An unwashed cabin-boy to serve; for table I would make Use of some handy plank; maybe a game of give and take With sailors gossiping around . . . Lately this chanced to me, Who always find myself at home in simple company. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLARK STREET BRIDGE by CARL SANDBURG FACADE: 24. AN OLD WOMAN LAMENTS IN SPRINGTIME by EDITH SITWELL FAREWELL TO FARGO: SELLING THE HOUSE by KAREN SWENSON THE TRANSIENCE OF HANDS by KAREN SWENSON |