Harold the Hammerhead swam out for his tea,
In a waistcoat of kelp and a hat from Dundee.
He saluted a haddock, then turned with a grin,
And wondered why half of the harbour would spin.

Some mornings his flippers felt perfectly grand,
Some evenings they moved as if packed full of sand.
One eye became blurry, then cleared before noon,
So Harold blamed glare from a luminous spoon.

He'd tingle while swimming past Barnacle Bay,
Then wobble through Wednesday but race on Thursday.
“Most curious,” said Harold, adjusting his tie,
As a shoal of pink herrings went bicycling by.

The oddities vanished, then wandered back in,
A stumble, a shimmer, a buzz in his fin.
Each seemed quite separate, peculiar and small,
So Harold saw no common pattern at all.

Much later he pondered those happenings past,
And saw how the pieces connected at last.
“By Neptune!” cried Harold, “Those clues were all mine!”
Then toasted himself with a thimble of brine.

He straightened his waistcoat and swam off with flair,
With a lobster as chauffeur and squid in his hair.
And whenever life puzzled him, Harold would say—
“Send clues if you must, but don't get in my way!”

Life Lesson: Sometimes the scattered shells make a pattern only when the tide goes out.