He was old,
Crisp like the satin.
Stiff like the oar.
Waves smeared the salt,
Dolphins waved with a smile.
He dreamt of Sinbad,
The sailor with a gun.
Back in his days,
He called the shots.
Now in the present,
He still calls the shots.
Running down those veins,
He felt the flow of power.
A must have , a must have not.
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