Somehow that makes me think of And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. And mum's favourite. And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. But when rarely I do look at verse I'm more Pobbles with no toes... Not sure what that would make me.
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