The Golden Oyster

The oyster down in the deep blue sea

Is just as silent as he can be

He never raises his voice on high

Tho’ he may be raised there by and by.

In calm or storm he’s ever the same,

True to his nature and true to name.

Not so with people, the air is rent

With the roar of voices of discontent,

And I’ve often wished, debarring jokes,

There were more oysters and fewer folks.

Sept. 24, ‘08