The Barnacle Goose and the Oystercatcher
Barnacle Bill was perched very still,
like a limpet on a rock.
A great gathering of gulls,
under his eye,
flew away, flock by flock,
while nearby,
Osmikar Oystercatcher,
complained, as it seemed he would,
forevermore,
and sandpipers sought their pitch,
and waves sploshed on the shore.
“The sea is so wet,
and too deep to wade,
and in a school of fish,
how many make the grade?”
Osmikar was saying.
“And how can seals be serious
when they seem always playing?
I know they did not plan it,
but who would want to be a gannet?
As for a razorbill,
do they know the drill?
Must be drab to be a crab,
and confusing with all those legs.
I would rather be a human hanging sheets
with my little bag of pegs.
But who am I to speak?
I am just a bird.
Above the pounding sea,
my cry is hardly heard.
And let us consider you,
a rather scrawny excuse
for an arctic goose.
Best to be a whale
whose might will never fail.
What a lark, not to fear a shark.
I expect the purpose of the porpoise
is not to be a dolphin,
but as the walrus said to the octopus,
in a seahorse race, who would win?”
So Osmikar Oystercatcher spoke on,
to conclude he never will.
Barnacle Bill listens still.
