Repose, the Port, a Sweet Melody

Here we be, laddies, the port-rope taut about the wave-slick pole, its heft & weight undulating, aye, 'top the roiling port, where others akin to it sit idle, empty of crew & cap'n alike, a dark & dense fog lapping about their sterns & starboards like errant ghosts of eel or pup. & I, yer cap'n, ye know, lads, that me good leg ne'er sets its foot 'pon the soil less & we be near me Elanore, & as such here I be, the only seafarer 'pon 'is tied brigate, where me crew be emptied in a rush amid the bounty of the port, its houses of ill repute, aye, its waterin' holes, mercantile shops & the like, lads. From abovedecks yer cap'n hears the melodies of the 'cordian falling into the streets like soft ribbons of gold into a new puddle o' rain, lads, as sweetly, as soft & pleasant unto the ears. Me crew be galavanting, drunk & oblivious, lads, chasing an emerald skirt down an alley, exchanging blows with a rival crew, passing a bottle that will no naught of the tumble of the sea, & methinks the starsglow a peculiar sight tonight, clear & all, lovely & lonely all at once. I pine, laddies, as e'er I do in still moments, for me Elanore, there 'pon that distant shore, aye, her hands a'toil, her azure eyes fixed 'pon the horizon, as if the looking might break its static visage, but nay, nay, here I be, wrapped in the twilight & the strain of 'cordian tunes, alone, alone, yer cap'n here alone.