There once was a Person from Porlock
Who objected to shells gathered ad hoc
He preferred them to stay on the beach
So as to stay within easy reach
Of the rest of the holiday flock.
Or, with apologies to Bas, my 'epic' ....
It seems odd to leave this little island
Go half round the world and get to Thailand
And meet a Person from Porlock.
Bas was walking along the wave-washed strand
Seeking new treasures in the golden sand
When his serenity took a knock.
He's collected shells year upon year
From numerous places far and near,
But he's never been put in the dock
To answer the charge of spoiling pleasure for all
As he triumphantly homes with his molluscan haul
To add to his precious stock.
But the urge to collect is so strong
(The next tide will bring more along)
Perhaps if he hid by this rock,
Then, after dark he could creep
To the beach when all are asleep
And smuggle them home in his sock!