Two shipmates sit and talk,
Sipping sweet Iced Tea,
Crab soup, Po’ Boys, Sandwiches,
Tales of their lives at sea.
Ships and ports, crises and wars,
Far too many to name,
Forty years since they first met,
Much changes, everything’s the same.
Several years since they last met
But it feels just like yesterday,
Serve together again in an instant,
That answer would brook no delay.
What is this strange thing they share,
For which they would tempt Hell’s gates?
It only makes sense if you have served,
Just one simple word: shipmates.
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