If only there were a Bay

[Benedict]

Forgive the terrible, terrible poem.
There once was a bay of Pirates, where booty there was to play, but the corneal did find them, and put their hides to flay. The trove was vast of questy things to find, but those days are far and gone with plenty of loss behind.
The cove of ever was there in plenty, but the sharks did disagree, they put the Bay back up again for those that swim their way. An awful lure was laid in place for sailors unaware, but those of wisdom can always tell the plea-deal sign of their affair.
Perhaps another knows a place of quest of neverending, so the author of this poem can please stop pretending.