DROWNED SAILORS’ HATS

If early some morning

You poo-poo the warning

And head for the grey mud flats

When the tide’s well out

You can search about

And find drowned sailors’ hats

Among the relics of the wrecks

Are plank-walked captains with hairy necks

And tattooed wrists and long frock coats

Who feed the crabs and shrimping boats

Are moth—balled clerics who went astray

Upon some long-forgotten day

Arm in arm with pirate chiefs

With rusted swords in crusted sheaths

Are pewter tankards full of sand

And diamonds big as a gypsy’s hand

Are fancy pistols with silver stocks

And quill-penned parchment in a box

Barnacled bosun, corral shot

Rum-filled casks from the captain’s cot

Charts and deeds and treasure maps

Chains and charms and braided caps

If early some morning

You poo-poo the warning

And head for the grey mud flats

You may sink in the mud

When the tide comes flood

And join those sailors’ hats.