II.

The shore's a flood of puddly mud, And the rocks are limy and slimy-- And I've tumbled down with a thud--good lud!-- And I fear I swore, For something tore; And my shoes are full Of the stagnant pool; And hauling, sprawling, crawling crabs Have got in my socks with star-fish and dabs; And my pockets are swarming with polypes and prawns, And noisome beasts with shells and horns, That scrunch and scrape, and goggle and gape, Are up my sleeve, I firmly believe-- And I'm horribly rimy and grimy.