Mister Krankie Meets the Klambake King

Mister Krankie, in his tartan coat,
Strolled to the seaside where the crabs do note,
He heard a clang, a jovial shout,
The Klambake King was flipping trout.

The King wore gloves of sea‑foam green,
His crown a net of pearls and sheen,
He offered Krankie a plate so grand,
With buttered mussels straight from sand.

They shared a laugh, a pot of tea,
While gulls did dance on pirouette,
The salty breeze did softly play,
A tune of chowder, bright and gay.

When sun sank low, the tide withdrew,
Mister Krankie tipped his hat to you,
The Klambake King, with gravy grin,
Said, “Come back soon, let feasts begin.”