I've got a bed like a half shell soft,
and a comb for a hundred strokes;
a parrot who speaks like a tony duke
with a holder for his smokes.
There's a vine on the railing and rose in a jar
that floats in my mermaid's pool;
drop your duffel and come to mother--
be a sailor but not a fool.
The earliest poem I can remember being truly fascinated by was Longfellow's "The Wreck of the Hesperus", which my father read to me because he thought I might like it. I did, and would periodically beg him to read it again. He did, bless him, he did, and so I offer this poem with its sound advice to stay the hell off of sailing ships!
For "What sparked your poetic heart?" at Real Toads