Mauritius

Off the east coast of South Africa,

Five hundred miles or so,

Is the island of Mauritius,

Where most folks rarely go.

But it’s well known to sailors,

Who voyage to Singapore,

Or to the Dutch East Indies,

And the Polynesian shores.

The villiagers are friendly,

A smile on every face,

And lots of children playing,

Running all over the place.

We stock up with good fresh water,

And fish of every kind,

Fill mess deck holds with fresh vegatables,

Salted pork and rind.

Up in the island’s center,

Is a volcano not quite dead,

And when it belches smoke and steam,

The islanders tremble with dread.

For every fifty years or so,

The volcano blows it’s top,

And lava floods the valleys,

Till their gods can make it stop.

Then fifty years of peace and calm,

And fishing all day long,

Trading with the sailors,

When the tall ships come along.

When I’ve hung myh slicker up,

And my sailing days are through,

I’ll come back to Mauritius,

And spend my days with you.

Slim Bevins Jr.