Sea-Fever

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

(From my dad, again, who used to sail when he was younger.)

Tongue-Tied.

Some Doggerel from my Dad for a Dreary, Damp Day:

Here is an old one. I have seen it in several places with no attribution like most of these things from ‘olden’ times.. Try to say it fast.

A skunk sat on a stump.
The stump thought the skunk stunk.
The skunk thought the stump stunk .
What stunk the skunk or the stump?

Here is another better known:

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers
A pack of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked
If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers,
Where’s the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?

***

(Oh, what the heck. Here're a couple of my favorites in French:

Trois gros ras dureront rarement.

As-tu oté ton thé?)