They clamber with never a bungle
To dive from the eaves.
'Tis an orgy of goblins, an image
Of nudity flouting the flood,
Of shorn-headed brownies who scrimmage
And splash in the mud.
As we row neath a tamarind, one'll
Roll off with a gesture of fright,
Bobbing up like a cork at our gunwale
And gurgling delight.