A P-P-Poem for T-T-Tuesday

Sailor Sam’s a nervous sort,

So when excitement thrums,

Can hardly stammer out a word,

A stutter-er, becomes . . .

The ship was cruising east to west,

The sails were athwart,

When wide-eyed Sam approached the Cap,

With something to report.

“C…C…C…C…C…C...” he said.

The Captain signed ‘okay’.

“Th…Th…Th…” the sailor gasped.

He’d nothing else to say.

The Captain’d heard poor Sam before,

He knew what Sam should do.

“Just sing it, Seaman,” Captain said.

“You’ll find that you’ll get through.”

Sam went away and thought a bit,

Then came back to his chief.

And cleared his throat and tunefully

He started his debrief.

“Should old acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind . . .

The bloomin’ cook fell overboard,

And is forty miles behind!”