The Fog has Horns

 

Beware the Pirate Ships

when sailing West to East

and heed the gales of August

on boats like yours they feast,

Chart your course by nighttime stars

and trim your sails by day –

the mighty wind has pointy teeth

to chew your sails away.

The fog has horns that rip and poke

sink, you surely will –

and sit upon the bottom sand

forever then be still.