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.

Miss Ryde at the village store,
Clomped the docks in her clogs once more;
With dogs that barked at passing skiffs,
She sang sea shanties—off the riffs,
’Til echoes danced from shore to shore.

Old George Lark with a nose immense,
Guarded its tip with great pretense.
“The gulls lose their way,
If they miss it a day,”
He’d boast with peculiar sense.

Up the hill where the pines lean right,
Miss Ryde ran fast in the failing light.
Down the slope in her gown of lace,
She dashed in a breathless, giddy chase—
A blur of song till she vanished from sight.

A bonnet bright upon her head,
Young Miss Ryde welcomed birds instead.
Her bonnet flew, her laugh took flight—
The lobstermen swore she glowed that night,
As stars bowed low o’er the bay’s soft spread.

She claimed the sky as her crown that day,
As sparrows perched in bright array.
“I’ll rule the clouds!” she cried with flair,
While the breezes tangled her golden hair—
Queen of the gulls by Nonsensia Bay.

Young Philip from Smyrna, sharp of tongue,
From the bait shack porch his banter sprung.
He’d spar with Ryde on Facebook threads,
While cleaning clams and shaking heads—
The youth where couth when words were flung.

There was a Lady from Bar Harbor,
Who baked every pie a bit sharper.
With blueberries blue,
And molasses too,
Her fame spread clear to Seal Harbor.