• For my pirate Queen,
    confiscator of spleens,
    stealer of scenes.
    Combs her hair with fish bones,
    has more stones,
    then most men have shown.

    A lover of fine rum,
    always on the run,
    into the next setting sun.
    Her signature is her style,
    Her tongue wrapped in guile.
    Wary be you when you see her smile!

    Ode to my Queen of the Scurvy dogs,
    may she e'er be high on the hogs,
    and sailing sound on the fogs.
    If you see her ship on the horizon,
    get your sail a'risin',
    then you'll live to be wizened.