when deep sea beckons where dangers flower,
the count set sail in his ship of destiny,
his thoughts all harried his goal a mystery.
In a vessel of teak worn and old,
his casts all iron his dreams full of gold,
his sails torn and tattered,
his hull worn and battered.
His crew was a blend of black and white,
of those who had erred and those who were right,
the buccaneers and murderers of vast open seas,
those who undo them when they swarm around like bees.
For 68 nights they sailed in deep blues wide,
the troubles of day the horrors of night,
all overtaken and overhauled in stride.
For 68 suns and 68 moons they rowed and rowed,
amidst all the winds and storms they steered unmoved.
Thrice had the serpents struck from without,
in waters weedy where sea snakes abound,
once the big pearly one and twice the one with fiery venom,
the ship sailed on though amidst all the bedlam.
His lady took command once for the count felt weak,
the lady straightened all not even letting the floor creak,
she was thrown overboard for being too strict,
and the count woke back from the slumber ere the morning tweet.
Yet now a new threat raised its head,
all the crew members were on deck out of bed,
the food was not good they complained,
the cook malpracticed and they were underfed,
nor were the quarters up to the mark,
the ledgers and the fact were in contrast stark,
the count didn't know what to do,
to abandon altogether or hire a new crew!
Anonymous it sucks!