The Yellow Submarine

Under the water I see you,
With bubbles coming out of your mouth.

You came up, breathing,
Gasping for air and,
Clinging onto the side of,
The yellow submarine.

You clamber up on,
The side of the vessel.
The edges are slippery,
And unforgiving.
Your tiny heart is beating,
So fast.

There is a yellow hatch on top,
Takes a deep breath,
Just a little boy,
You are,
With soft brown hair and a miniature smile.

A father's hand ruffles you from above,
Cradles you in his arms,
Lifts you up,
Onto the woozy tumulus of his chest.

He bounces you on his knee,
And after he sits you down,
Settled quietly,
He tells you he will,
Sing to you and your mammy.

You look up into his tender face,
And smile,
His voice descends to bass,
And for a moment,
He sings, joyously:
'Mah curly haired boy.'

You bounce up and down,
And laugh and laugh.
A father's hand holds you tightly,
In his yellow submarine embrace:

Not a care!
Not a care in the world!