To see the souls that ride the tide
And balance on the wave
They stand to gain all sorts of love
And capture wills that reign
The posting of the colors bring
A tidy sum to all
And posting forth with joyous sights
Will bring a wondrous call
“Shout forth” they sing
“And bring it near” they cry to souls that ride
And there within the festive flair
Will cause all those to strive
They seek to please, to give, to dance
To harken to the knave
And dance they shall with minstrel’s song
Upon the pass-eds’ graves.
Beer’s froth will bounce upon the ground
And give to cats a lick
As those poor minstrels’ fluted looks
Will give them quite a pick.
’Tis not the passing of the night
That brings a wondrous jest
But all that goes before us now
And bids us its request.
Farewell for now, this meet must end
But will not be the last
For ‘morrow brings reunions grand
Even if half-mast.
Books by Marty