Jenny Muldee

	Jenny Muldee

On a jagged isle, in the dark north sea,
  Where the waves roar and seagulls scream,
Lived a maiden fresh, called Jenny Muldee,
  With long brown hair and cheeks of cream.

Each day she worked the long moist strand
  Where the tide gives up its diurnal prize,
'tween the ocean green and the virgin sand,
  Where each land is born and each land dies.

Oysters and whelks, crabs and cockles,
  Flotsam from some deep-sea kill,
Gobies and shrimp, scampi and mussels,
  All grist for her salt-water mill.

One day, when the tide was at greatest neap,
  Round rocks strewn as by an angry child,
Came he who seemed lord of the ocean's keep,
  Meeted and greeted and poor Jenny beguiled.

Each month he came, but something else did not,
  And Jenny's footmarks in the sand grew deep,
At last he told her to fix her birthing-cot,
  Betwixt the tidemarks if her child she'd keep.

The child she bore was big and braw,
  As healthy as any other boy,
But where he played, new pools would draw,
  Though the sand beneath was dry.

When the tide was neap, he walked upon the land,
  But never o'er far from father sea,  
And when the tide was spring, he went with wetter sand
  Than was ever walked by Jenny Muldee.