Daisy Belle

She lay upon the glistening sand,

     A pretty picture, she;

And many stopped and looked at her,

     And sighed most wistfully.

We’d stripped her ere the tide went out,

     And left her stark and bare;

Then gently rolled her on her side

     With due respect and care.

A picture she, but not to us,

     For we’d to work like sin;

You see, we had to calk he tight

     Before the tide came in.

June 6, ‘97