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How about a sonnet to the Mary Murray?

Look how the pale queen of the silent night

Doth cause the lower bay to attend upon her,

And he, as long as she is in his sight,

With his polluted tide is ready her to honor.

But when the silver dish of the radar

Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,

The sea calls home his oily waves to larboard,

And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.

So you that are the sovereign of my heart

Have all thy nickle fares attending on your will;

My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,

And we all your rotten coffee doth swill.

So as you come and as you do depart,

Joys ebb and flow within my calloused heart.

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