and ordinary man, #3

silkie's drinking claret, waiting for the sailor boys, and the sun
to set, waiting for the dark to make her young, and the tide
to carry all the years to sea, waiting in a shadow full of

rawsome mystery, she is a flavor ripe for late night suppers,
and she'd been a ballerina, sold her whiskey at the fair,
but only when the lads were thirsty, and always gave old granny

her full and justly share, cause silkie knows her right from
left, her way around the block, she understands the meaning
of a rosy blush upon the cheek, but at the last, upon the end

of day, there's always golden claret, perhaps a chocolate
by the bed, there are mirrors and some candlelight, that
understand the life she's led, and in the corner, tightly sleeping

an ordinary man