This is the story of silly Sally's sea-shore patronising enterprising
- of the sea-shore's trinkets so wonderfully tantalising.
She's a customer for cowries, cockles and cones,
and small driftwood sticks and sea-polished stones.

We witnessed one weekday - silly Sally
	on her solitary sea-shell searching stroll.
On the beach we'd watch her dilly-dally
	as timeless tides in and out would roll.

In fact, one week whole we saw her stroll
- and always with her, not a soul.
But every day she'd collect the sea-shore's selfless dole,
as the crashing waves the passing time would toll.

From the sea forth, the shell-life would spew,
to be snatched up by the gulls to leave oh so few.
Such a little that Sally, seeing this, would cry "Begone sea-mew!
Begone with you! Shoo! Shoo!"

The she'd focus with each eyeball opened wide
- on the beach, sea-shells small that hide.
When asked she says "We're heir to gifts that in amongst soft sands abide :
remnants of many molluscs that have died."

And from here to yonder, circumspecting sand, she goes
- far to wander with her crown bent down to near her toes.
Then she'd stop a while to catch a whiff of sea-smells,
and joyful, like a child, she'd smile - listening to the wave in sea-shells.

Then, with the sun setting soon,
standing lonely in the late afternoon
	- toes tucked into sand.
Wishing there a true love with her
to make the moments even warmer
	- hand in hand.

And on the weekends you just might stall by her displays
	of finds from the weeks before.
Yes, on Saturdays and Sundays,
	Sally sells sea-shells on the sea-shore.