Christmas Poem

John Paul Masters

   In a far off Northern city
On an Island all alone
   Stood a U.S. Naval prison
Built of Iron, Brick and stone

   The convicts…they were plenty
Some 2000 men or more
   Doing time in Portsmouth
Some had never done time before

   They were seated around the table
To partake of the Christmas fare
   When in stepped Old Tom Osborn
and loudly shouted down the hall

The convicts shouted “BALLS”

   This made Old Tom Osborn angry
and he swore by all the gods
   You’ll get no Christmas dinner
you filthy bunch of gobs

   Piped old Ball-eyed Mastice
With a voice as bold as brass
   We don’t want your Christmas dinner
You can stick it up your ______ (elbow)

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