'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pilot house,
Not a GPS was purring, not even a rat.
The dingy's were hung by the davits with care,
In the hope that St. Lucia soon would be there.
The Children were nestled all snug in their racks,
While visions of diving lobsters danced in their heads.
And mama in her bikini, and I in my trunks,
Had just settled our tans for a long winter's swim:
When out on the sea there arose such a splatter,
I sprang from the head to see what was the matter.
Away to the portal I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the bow of the newly painted Trawler
Gave the lustre of awe to a weary fellow-
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a nordhaven and ahhhh...I'm tired. Just got done eating habachi, I"ll try again tomorrow.