I ponder each curved letter, each linked crest,
remembering the sweetness of your breath,
imagining the workings of your tongue
voyaging the lines and notes you’ve sung.
Dear Lady, loquacious in your speech,
what cruel lessons has our love yet to teach?
Within my heart you’ve cut an unhealed scar;
still I leave you a servant in his charge,
the Spanish, French and English have their war,
I, the loathsome pirate they must cure,
seeking paid adventures that I crave
sometimes lending, at times withholding aid
mastering winds to loot a sovereign fleet
deft profiteering in the name of peace.
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