Overcoming

Now comes morning on so brightly

Gulls scrape and screech like rooks

Short waves come in nicely

Lines writ on mornings book

He wanders out head wound tightly

To stoop and take a look

Awonder why he’s shellacked nightly

Why it was bad gin that he took

But in a flash the sun up brightly 

Gulls drift smoothly from their nooks

He throws bread at those plumed whiteley

But it’s stolen by the darker crooks

Wanders down to shore a trail tread lightly

In the grasses waving book

No longer bound quite as tightly

By the bad gin that he took

Finds a tide pool, peers at what might be

Better with urchins and crabs as a look

His face reflected perfectly

Over the creatures clearly shook

That’s the story told on the nightly

Of him the sea never took

Instead he gave himself lightly

To be written in its book

For he jumped in the bight, see?

And turned into a fish, look!

That curving line of milt whiteley

Marks the path that he took