The days have been so dreary. Usually about this time, I want to go back to bed. But this morning the sun is shining, and I've already been out there! Makes me feel like a kid again.
Second cup of coffee makes it even better.
*
The sun was shining on the sea,
shining with all his might;
he did his very best to make
the billows smooth and bright--
and this was odd, because it was
the middle of the night.
The moon was shining fitfully,
because she thought the sun
had got no business to be there,
after the day was done.
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"to come and spoil the fun."
The sea was wet as wet could be;
the sand was dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
no cloud was in the sky.
No birds were flying overhead;
there were no birds to fly.
A Walrus and a Carpenter
were walking close at hand;
they wept like anything to see
such quantities of sand.
"If this were only cleared away,"
they said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
swept it for half a year,
do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"that they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it!" said the Carpenter,
and shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
the Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
along the briny beach!
We cannot do with more than four
to give a hand to each!"
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
but never a word he said.
The eldest Oyster looked at him
and shook his heavy head,
as if to say he did not choose
to leave the Oyster bed.
But four young Oysters hurried up,
all eager for the treat;
their clothes were brushed, their faces washed,
their shoes were clean and neat--
and this was odd because, you know,
they hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
and then another four,
and thick and fast they came at last,
and more, and more, and more--
all scrambling through the briny waves
and hopping to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
walked on a mile or so,
and then they rested on a rock
conveniently low;
and all the little Oysters stood
and waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"to talk of many things:
of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax,
of cabbages and kings,
and why the sea is boiling hot,
and whether pigs have wings.
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"is what we chiefly need.
Pepper and vinegar besides
were very good indeed.
Now, if you're ready, Oysters dear,
we can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
a dreadful thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said;
"do you enjoy the view?
"It was so kind of you to come,
and you are very nice."
The Carpenter said nothing but,
"Cut us another slice.
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice."
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"to play them such a trick,
after we've brought them out so far
and made them hop so quick."
The Carpenter said nothing but,
"The butter's spread too thick."
"I weep for you," the Walrus said,
"I deeply sympathize!"
With sighs and tears, he sorted out
those of the largest size,
holding a pocket-handkerchief
before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters!" said the Carpenter,
"you've had a pleasant run.
Shall we be trotting home again?"
But answer came there none--
and this was scarcely odd, because
they'd eaten every one!
--Charles Lutwidge Dodgson
