when below a full moon, not a creature was stirring, not even a loon.

While low tide was all settled, far down below,…
sounds rung from a boat cabin, with ports all a-glow.

Softly we crept down the docks, just to tell,…
below was a Welshmen named Aled, and his lovely Isobel.

So we toasted by the fire and no one seemed care,…
that the stockings weren’t hung, the space just wasn’t there.

With the bubbly all gone, in the harbor night scene,…
We slid-closed the hatch, on season two thousand-thirteen.