This is just a short poem in reply to the writing of a friend on Facebook. The whole thing took me about 20 minutes start to finish but before you ask, I’ve no idea why octopi sprang to mind or even why they decided to throw stones.

The last time that I got the chance
To contemplate the sea,
A swarm of passing octopi,
They did hurl rocks at me.

I’m sure they didn’t like it,
When I threw a large stone back.
And it bounced right off the bill of one,
With a nice resounding crack.

I really can’t remember,
If the sky was green or blue.
Or if the moon did shine at night,
With a black or silver hue.

But when the locals tried to launch,
their ship without a sail.
The octopi they tore apart,
the little boats gunwale.

The children laughed out heartily
as the dinghy it did sink.
And all the local fishermen,
they fell into the drink.

The moral of this story is:
Never trust a place thats wet.
Now mountains, that’s the place for me.
For hills, well them I get!

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