Seymour goes out walking
The yawnder time of day
To peer at boats a-docking
Inside the Starboard Bay;
Clicks the little bottoms
Of his shiny sailing shoes,
All waxed with Mrs. Tottem’s
Super Waxing Booze
(He spares a nickel everytime
He passes by the store –
The men in faded trousers
Love him all the more);
When in the buoyish blueish sky
A robin meets a lark
And Seymour spies them in their flight,
Commencing to remark:
A lovely sort of sight (says he),
Those birds who strain together –
One the alto, one the treble,
Two born of single feather!
Then bursting from the distance,
A ship horn sounds its blow:
All hands on deck – Metonymy!
(Old Seymour lets them know);
The men pull out, the sails float on,
The salt is in the air;
Please, Seymour, dear! don’t stray too far –
The fish aren’t even there.