The colour of money shows error-of-ways,
Though dazzling green it spits emerald rage,
A filthy obsession which leads to the grave,
X marks the spot….
Buried is treasure; off Sullivan’s Cove,
Surrounded by pirates and old, rusty bones,
There’s a fight for the map; upon which it shows,
X marks the spot.
Old Long-John himself – stands in felt tricorne hat,
And squints with the eye that’s not hidden by patch,
With a swashing of cutlass he signals attack,
X marks the spot.
Flagon’s sent flying, high into the air,
Monkeys and parrots are screaming despair,
Canons are firing; Sea dogs beware,
X marks the spot.
Letters of Marque lead to walking the plank,
Doubloons, gems and gold in a new pirate hand,
‘Avast ye me hearties’ – old John sails clear of land,
X marked the spot.
(c) Copyright Jane Edwards 2010
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