Twas a week in the middle of June
Cruising under a full blue moon
On a stage of eight
One dancer had Fate
Designed bait me into a swoon.
This blonde, nimble angel of white
With butt, tummy, leotard tight,
Smooth slender thighs,
Strong legs and deep eyes
Sapped my hot heart of its might.
As she twirled and shook it on stage,
My blood boiled blue beyond gauge
To plow my prow fast
Twixt the sails of her mast –
Navigation that would not be sage.
Four nights I was lured by her grace,
Each show a downwards-sloped race
Not but for stars,
Especially Miss Mars
Waging war on my heart with cold face.
Seven whole days I scoured the ship –
Searching, beseeching, pursuing a tip
That might reveal
Some minute appeal
Unveiling a trail towards her far tender lip.
The night of finale, their very last show,
The worst yet, yet the finest she’d glow;
With spunky cha-chas
She jiggled her ta-tas
Towards my dopey grin down center row.
Thus marks the end of my spurious love,
Bound to be cursed by heaven above;
The following cruise,
My sparkling fuse
Was doused to hear of that migrated dove.
Still, what foolish thoughts did I conceive?
To seek her for my lonesome reprieve?
No contentment attained
From a stranger obtained
On ships, the fantastical heart falsely reaves.
Morning's Early Dark 