Holes

Hello Stranger, will you have a little wine?

I want to tell you about this hole of mine,

It’s on a hillside where the sun doesn’t shine,

Flowers do not bloom there,

And the house nearby is covered with vines,

A lady used to dwell there,

Her beauty was divine,

Her skin was snow white, her hair like summer moonshine,

I never knew a lady more fine,

But this story is about a hole; do have some more wine,

It’s six feet deep, and six feet wide,

Filled with earth and twigs and twine,

In it I’ve kept a long box with nails,

And everyday I stop there in that little vale,

And look upon the words etched on a stone,

My only wish is that I could somehow atone,

Tell me is it a sin to want her forevermore?

Come now stranger, let me tell you some more,

About the hole in my heart, that I’ve carried since yesterday and must again tomorrow

The Bilge Master