On the 27th

“No,” called the miser,
“I will not have the Spanish
Mast crumble my dock!”

But no stewards heard him
On the stalwart old thing
From his office on shore,
And I’m not sure if he knew
That the ship was speeding
Toward the dock already,
And would crash into the planks,
Making a mess of the lot of things.

“I don’t care,” cried the miser,
“If it is centuries old or more! I will
Keep control of this port come
Rain, hell, hair, or nightmare steam!”