gazing over Normandy

in his stony tower

sat the cheerless poet,

growing by the hour

grievously more dour

while gazing over Normandy,

knowing he had not much

so tried and true

to scribe about except

for briny blue—

and then, of course,

his pet in cage,

a black-capped chickadee

(quite young, incidentally),

who grew and grew …

and grew.

And since such brackish

subjects had been

well addressed by better odists,

he could weigh no useful remedy.

so the poet did depress

himself inordinately

as he, thus made gloomy,

sipped an English brew

while gazing over Normandy—

in the company

(coincidentally),

of, at his side,

an aging rodent shrew—

from that wind-blown, rock-ribbed

structure by the salty sea.