Mental flotsam: a singsong poem on the Mayne Island ferry

Foam, foam, light green foam
Swirly, twirly patterns of foam
Never mind the words of this poem
Swirly, twirly, patters of foam

Rushy, mushy, flows the wake
Nothing to leave and all to take, this
Poem is like an applesauce cake
Rushy, mushy flows the wake

The gulls are turning, the terns are going
Two wide ‘round my head
I’m surely having and slowly knowing
To live the things I’ve said.

If ever there was a reason to live
Surely it must be
The way we feel and the way we love
From far across the sea


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