The Dreaded Rosaly
In blackened night with nary a star,
You'll see the Dreaded Rosaly.
With blackened hair like cannon tar,
She is the Dreaded Rosaly:
Her whipping hair, like whipping ropes,
Upon her dreaded, curléd pate;
With fairest face of moonlit hue;
With flinted eyes; with swaying gait.
Beware her winsome smile and charms;
A crocodile's tears are they.
She'll snap you up and slit your throat
And merrily be on her way.
A fearsome foe is she at sea
With craft and guile to match the worst.
I know not whether she or prey
Would count the more as grimly cursed.
The plague of seven seas she is—
As merciless as the sea herself.
Not e'en nine circles of hell could hold
The wrath she paints across the reef.
There's little known about her truth,
For blood is all that follows her.
As quiet as the mist at night,
She comes and goes without a stir.
Thus, my son, I warn you now:
Keep both eyes sharp on the sea.
Beware the gentle lull that hides
The Dreaded Rosaly.