One half of a pound a week
Is that too much to seek?
It shouldn’t be hard
To lose all this lard
It’s merely a really slow leak.
But now a thought begins to dawn
That I can’t help but fixate on
No matter how small
The rate is, and all,
In 400 weeks, I’d be gone!
Long ago and far away
In the seaside town of Graylers
Two kinds of town folk ruled the day:
The butchers and the sailors
The butchers could cleave all things in two
The sailors could tie up all what-nots
The meaning’s probably clear to you:
A case of the ‘halves’ and the ‘have knots’.