Clown Fish Magazine

sum see some sea where er’ ye be’s
the kettles t’is hot as brews the black tea’s
thru the winds the waves crash and rattle the door’s
the cat is a run-in as trembles the floor’s
the sputtering fire from winds down the stack’s
spits embers of red on sleeping dawg’s back’s
in the darkness the cries of a seagull in flights
as the room shrinks tis more shadows than lights
the wood stack is dwindling as flames start to die
more needs to be fetched I’ll be damned by not eye
the floor is a movin’ as the cliff rocks and sways
in the morning twill be just the cliff and some haze
where’s the hot crackling fire and comforting tea
and the kettle so black in the night near the sea
where’s the light in yon window from where I now lay
as dark shapes that surround me too n fro sway
there tis no day nor night in the depths oh so deep
jus the fish swimmin’ roun’ me as forever I sleep

coralights