Don’t complain that the sea’s full of salt;

It could have been worse and it’s not my fault.

The giant who lives in the blue stormy bays

Wanted his fish with fresh mayonnaise,

And ketchup and onions and green mushy peas,

Sitting like islands in indigo seas.

And his ships he wanted with lashings of gravy,

Muddy and gloopy and soupy and wavy,

And rainfalls of vinegar all made from malt.

But before I said ‘No’, he’d poured out the salt,

Which sprinkled like snow from the sky and then spilt

In the mud and the muck and the sand and the silt.

But please just be thankful he used the salt first

Just imagine the sea had the pepper pot burst.

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