Sing, glorious waves. Mock the land now wet,
Deposit your shells, cast the sand further near,
Nor will no moon dare calm your speedy wave,
And the waves still sink mountains by sky's delight,
Who knew then that melody would attract a crab,
Who'd let each wave crash upon his shell to furore,
Then sunk beneath the waves then escorted out,
Belated were the thanks torn apart by crack of dawn,
When all sounds alike are but waves truly strike,
There is but a simple whisper beneath each crash,
Whose light above cannot steal a sombre tone.
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