Insidiously creeping stuff,

insinuating into food

and other places much more crude,

rasping ones’ skin until it’s rough.

It slides inside my shoes you see

and fills them full, no room for feet

and thence prevents my being fleet.

It seems it just won’t let me be.

By going to the sea it seems

I must sacrifice some comfort

for the joys that the ocean brings.

Like seeing how the sunlight gleams

and how the shrimp boats come to port.

My heart soars as the ocean sings.


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