Two rolling Alps of water,—white and curly!
We saw a pair of little arms a-skimming,
Much like a first or last attempt at swimming!
Sometimes a hand—sometimes a little shoe—
Sometime a skirt—sometimes a hank of hair
Just like a dabbled seaweed rose to view,
Sometimes a knee—sometimes a back was bare—
At last a frightful summerset he threw
Right on the shingles. Any one could swear
The lad was dead—without a chance of perjury,