To-and-fro, To-and fro
Tattered worn, and dreary
The ropes creak while the cold wind crows,
Young men, blue and weary,
Their hands they sway,
Their feet they swing,
To-and-fro, To-and-fro
A Pirates life for me, yo-ho
Is what the cold winds sing.
Poetry
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This is the first poem I’ve written in years. Forgive me if it’s cringey. I’m finding my way back to writing.