As I Sat On Bagged Beans

He drew in air with a silken pen
As ink embraced bleached walls
Flowing forth, entering halls
Calling outward for his comedienne.

Loftily she spoke wherein words
Opened all thought, awakening desire,
Arising from the stupor and mire
Releasing joy to wing clipped birds.

Engaging in wit and wilful abandonment
While clouds gathered to listen in
At the revellers caged within.
Clouds growing ever more content.

Though joy grows dull to those endowed,
For even little Boatswain
Faded away, and grew to wane,
And so he went back to his shroud.

To which he took up his pen
As if to start, yet again.