drifting along the brackish coast.
Oh, touch the ground, little black leg
sidle lightly,
so that your toes can find footing.
The sea of white surrounds you,
and the bars sometimes trap you
but you can squeeze between the cracks
as water does between grains of sand
The isle may be lonely
and your song may fall flat
but someone will answer the siren's call,
someone will read
the message in that bottle.
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