A Sonnet on Oysters

To tell the truth, I really never knew
What oysters were, until, one night this week,
A barrel came up from Green Holly Creek
And Grif set up a supper for the crew.

First, on the shell, most glorious to view,
Their little sacks, distent and soft and sleek,
Dribbled with acid lemon-juice, and eke
Bill's home-made ketchup.... And then came the stew!

A stew, I say, since rhyme must needs be sung,
Though, to be factual, the 'valves were panned —
And then, the Colonel's gorgeous bowl of punch.
O zesty broth, serene upon the tongue,
And ginger cookies, baked by Jim's wife's hand,
The night Grif broached that barrel for the bunch!
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