Reeve

In the bucolic rooms, proclaimed by the sea, let me dispel the gloom, common trees or blasted bark, the bones of Saint Anthony, explode in splintered sparks, the dawn brings early tribune, a tiny gift at the infirmary, to fill our empty spoons, Doctors are very smart, even when not so easy, love lifts our battered hearts, will our baby come soon, like a summer breeze, sail a bright sailed schooner, joy at whistles and booms, on St Christopher’s quay, we possess a great fortune, such serendipity.