The Port O'call Poem Rhyme Scheme

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Our hull is seldom painted	A
Our decks are seldom stoned	B
Our sails are patched and cobbled	C
And chains by rust marooned	D
Our rigging is untidy	E
And all things in accord	F
We always sail on Friday	E
With thirteen souls on board	F
For all the days save Friday	E
Were days of dark despair	G
The fourteenth died of fever	H
Whenever he was there	G
Our good ship is the Chancit	E
Her oldest name of all	I
But in the ports we re blown to	E
She s called the Port o Call	I
	-
Our captain old Wot Matters	J
Our first mate young Hoo Kares	J
Our cook is Wen Yew Wan Tit	E
And so the Chancit fares	J
The sweethearts wives and others	J
And all we left behind	E
Have many names to go by	K
But mine is Never Mind	E
	-
We fear no hell hereafter	H
We hope for no reward	E
We always sail on Friday	E
With thirteen men on board	E
And every wind s a fair wind	E
That suits us one and all	I
And every port we re blown to	E
We call our port of call	I
	-
I ve seen the poor boy striving	L
For just one chance to rise	J
The light of truth and honour	H
And genius in his eyes	J
His school mates jeered and mocked him	M
They mocked him through the town	N
And his relatives scarce pitied	E
While his parents crushed him down	N
	-
I ve seen the young man fighting	L
The present and the past	E
Till he triumphed in the city	E
And fame was his at last	E
And generous but steadfast	E
All for his Country then	O
Unspoiled and all unconscious	J
He stood a prince of men	O
	-
I ve seen the husband ruined	E
And drunken in the street	E
When the World was all before him	M
And the ball was at his feet	E
Thrust down by fate most bitter	H
Most cruel and unjust	E
His children taught to loathe him	M
And his name dragged in the dust	E
	-
	-
Our hull is never painted	E
Our decks are never stoned	E
The cabin air is tainted	E
The good ship is disowned	E
Our rigging is untidy	E
And all things in accord	E
We always sail on Friday	E
With thirteen hands on board	E
I ve seen strong bushmen slaving	L
As men ne er slaved before	H
To win homes from the scrublands	J
And win their country more	H
And I ve seen their children scattered	E
As work slaves on the soil	P
And the old age pension begged for	H
After fifty years of toil	P
	-
And the Bush Muse is discarded	E
There s a wanton on the track	L
And her panderers are sneering	L
At old soldiers of Out Back	L
The motor cars go racing	L
Past the Heroes of Long Years	J
And the dust is in their faces	J
And the laughter in their ears	J
	-
	-
We care not where we re bound for	H
Nor how the storm might howl	Q
For every wind s a fair wind	E
And every wind a foul	Q
There s nothing left to sail for	H
Save that we keep our decks	J
And watch for other castaways	J
On rafts from other wrecks	J

Henry Lawson

The Port O'call Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

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