Seven men sat in a boat.
Praying so hard it’d stay afloat.
Some would steer, some would ride.
Some would argue with the tide.
Destiny’s had will guide them through,
And their arrival to land could be so slow.
Hans Peter sat on his hands,
Squints eyes he sees no sand.
Concern and caution goes unsaid.
While Ernie Steel just looks ahead.
Wilbur Plunked, he watches the moon,
Knowing the tune, it’ll be gone too soon.
Steven Snit was in a fix,
Squirmed and fidget to call it quits.
But his words were hollow,
And his sorrow was a fit.
Wilbur Moss, hangs on for dear,
The floatation loss, is ought to fear.
So he looks and looks as he hangs to hear,
A leer so dear, of land so near.
Wallace Buell, needs some fuel,
He’s sick and lost and life’s so cruel.
Big Jim Mason sat still and true
Not a waver, not a clue,
He’s holding it tough he sitting tall.