Do you know the lady from Otter Creek
She loved to write, but she was meek
So she made a silly book,
Full o’ jokes worth a look,
For a laugh, throw her some cash—take a peek.
Weathered Mainers Book of Nonsense
In the harbor town of Nonsensia Bay,
The fog rolls in and decides to stay,
The locals speak with half a drawl,
With lobsters plenty through it all,
Until the tourists drift away.
In the curious village of Otter Creek,
Where hill meets harbor in mystique,
The locals delight,
In tall tales each night,
Half salt, half seaweed, half freak!
Old George Lark, with his beard so wide,
Housed gulls and terns on either side.
“They’d lose their own way,
If they missed a day!
So they nest here, puffed up with pride.”
When lobstermen waved, he’d nod polite,
Then feed his beard some bait at night.
His whiskers flapped when storms blew through—
“Ayuh,” he’d say, “they like it too.”
That beard was a sailor’s delight.
Old Mr. Lark by the shore did abide,
Where owls hunted mice that would hide
In his britches each night,
’Neath the moon’s gentle light,
Till he chatted with owls, misty-eyed.
Young Miss Ryde would parade along,
With spotty dogs and clogs and song;
Her laces tied, her stride so spry,
She waved to the beard as she wandered by,
And the gulls flew along in a throng.
WoPoLi 
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