Note: An edited version of one of my earliest attempts at poetry, a bit of dark humor.

Me lads, I’ll dance, I’ll dance for ye,
Before Judge Marion’s pole,
Dance like a man with a doddery leg,
Who’s never been to the sea.

Me lads, I’ll come, I’ll come to swing,
Before man’s merriest pole,
Step with a jig to no watery brig,
For all the ropes may sting.

Me lads, I’ll whirl, I’ll whirl, not plead,
Before the saint- making pole,
Whirl for the town ‘neath hempen neck crown,
For naught but Christmas‘s creed.