Captain Armchair When I was Skipper Armchair and I trimmed a swell topgallant, I sent aloft the numbskull boys and those with rising talent. My seaboots kicked around your world, I cosied to my binnacle and close-hauled past Cape Fantasy, gave sea-room to Cape Cynical. The estuaries I called at were alive with virtual ships, and the lighters came in-tow across the moonlight’s water-lips, to bring us cargoes with their smells of coal or coriander, and seasoned crews undone by shore, still snoozing from some blinder. So what’s a cringle, what’s a splice, and what’s the view…
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