09 February, 2010


Ever by the misty glades
Through the humid mountain sprays
Ever by the leafy shades
Does sunlight filter in by rays.

Ever on the sandy dunes
Where the bravest dare not assume
Ever during day a whistled tune
May allow a show of plume.

Ever on the salty shores
Of lapping wavelets tickling little dorms
Ever knocking on happy doors
Or planting newer tiny gorms.

Ever on the path will wander
To and fro across the land ponder
Ever learning not asunder
And by this be growing fonder
Of the place given as a gift
Full of plenty and not a-thrift.

Playing by the lullabyes the cranky lobster wept. For upon his softer shell the coronet from afternoon had leapt. Now it dug into his skin, (for yesterday he'd shed) and glistened with pinkly-pin, a glowing lovely red. By and by a musslet came, a-weaving and a-bobbling, saw the poor lobster's plight and continued on a-robbing. Then swept by a silver bream a-glistening in the ripples, pulled and pulled but could not stipple the coronet of whipples. Hefty then a large foot stomped and there an octopus came after, chasing after running lunch and filled with inky laughter. Seeing then the lobster's plight, the octopus did pry, and with words of comfort left again to return with a grafter. Not trusting hungry foe, tired lobster crept into hidden hole. Deeper, deeper into the dark and still the coronet it bit, but then cooling water and lack of light made the thing submit. It crawled back up toward the door where octopus sat lurking, hoping for the easy meal it had seen a-murking. Up sprang coronet, shining fair, onto the octopus' neck, there it looped and drooped and bit down hard without a single care.

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