Along about six in th’ mornin’,
When th’ drippin’ sun turns out o’ bed,
An’ reveille’s gone, an’ th’ decks are astir,
An’ th’ whinin’ gulls dip overhead;
An’ th’ four t’ eight watch is half over,
An’ up in th’ eyes o’ th’ craft
Y’c’n hear th’ sea slap, an’ th’ anchor chains creak —
O’ sudden there sounds fore an’ aft,
Th’ welcome old notes o’ chow call,
An’ then y’ relief heaves in sight —
Say, mate, in this outfit, is there somethin’ better
T’ top off a lone watch at night
Then t’ jest join th’ gang, when th’ mess gear’s
A-clatterin’ down on th’ board,
An’ th’ chow from the galley comes on pipin’ hot,
An’ th’ steamin’ black coffee is poured?
Can y’ ever forget how y’ lingered
For th’ seconds o’ coffee or cakes?
Or gathered on deck b’fore “Turn to” had gone,
Fer a sociable pipe, or th’ “makes”?
Do y’ reckon that any sound sweeter
C’d fall on a sailorman’s ear,
In th’ grind an’ routine of his life on th’ sea,
Then th’ welcome call t’ mess gear?
(Burt Franklin Jenness)
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Based on Topics: Night Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Coffee PoemsBased on Keywords: sailorman, steamin, chow, somethin, drippin, outfit, reveillé, sociable, pipin, whinin, a-clatterin