If benches wore sitters' shadows,
Whitby's would be wearing ours,
Along East Cliff, West Cliff, in Pannett Park,
And down Henrietta Street.
The beach would still pop with our sandpies
And the pier boards feel our feet.
Yet in all our trips around the bay,
We never saw the porpoise play,
Or seals waving careless flippers
Among the creatures on the shore,
Where the Walrus and the Carpenter
Invited oysters out to dine
scampered up Whitby sands
To leave the Demeter behind.
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