The belle that was truly rung
whilst the Curaçao felt fish look
Hooked And truly stitched on.
Cross traced ripples of water boatmans race
the glaciers tides that at once slide
Remain stacked On the ruffled Bairded board.
As home made skates are loch and laced
That not even a ice Machine could refill
the Palaeolithic parched lake.
As the flounders found the louder they shouted
The more the sound ignored their gasps for air
Heeding the warmed lanterned advice of thrice.