10 August 2012
He hides, taking occasional glances, Thinks he maybe should take less chances.
A stowaway on a small blue boat, Carrying lots of boxes and an old grey goat.
Hidden in a crate away from view, What he was hiding from, nobody knew.
All tucked up in that dark wooden box, Nearly as quiet as an cunning red fox.
No-one would find him, he thought with glee, His plan was planned so masterful-ly.
When he got to the end of the journey ahead, He would find a new life to earn all his bread.
He waited so long, but little he knew, There was mutiny afloat in the ship's old crew.
The captain, he pleaded he shouted out "no!" But into the see went all his precious cargo!
The man in the box felt a terrible jolt, Cause into the ocean his crate should bolt.
He pushed on the lid but it wouldn't budge, Against the current he felt a great grudge.
And that was the last that we heard of poor joe, Where had he come from? Where did he go?
The Stowaway • Opuss № I