Fog

Two O'Clock in the morning, And the fog is rolling in. There's a fog horn loudly blaring, Telling shrimpers to stay in. Thick as pea soup they will say, Over cups of steaming joe. Hope the damn fog does'nt stay, Just let the south wind start to blow. Crusty, grizzled, sailing men, Telling stories of the sea. Tales to shame an authors pen, With their wild veracity. The fog won't stop them, to be sure, It never stops them in the end. They just can't resist the oceans lure, And a little fog is naught to them. And now the south wind starts to blow, They'll set their sails after all. And then they scatter to the wharf below, Damn that fog, lets get our haul. 6/17/10 29 palms ca.