A trembly little smile from you shall be a poet’s pay!
MY SHIP
By Edmund Leamy
My ship is an old ship and her sails are grey and torn,
And in the dim and misty night she seems a thing forlorn;
Her battered sides are beetle black, her decks are scarred and old,
And heavy rise the musty scents from out her crumbling hold.
The young ships in the tide-way with a sneering smile sail by,
And fair they flash their white sails against a sun-drenched sky,
And fleet they run before the clouds that usher in a blow,