Scrawny, half-grown gods
Used to haunt the sails of ships
Doing well or woe to sailors -- a knot
Made double-tight, a patch that held,
New canvas that tore when the wind blew.
They taunted the cats, killed the rats
And fed on oaths and tales and smoke
From banked fires. Some of them now
With a knack for it haunt trading houses
Leading numbers astray and making winds rise
In corridors where no winds should be.
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