The hermit crabs have not been told
Of how one end a reed should hold
They do not know to cut and dry
And knowing nothing, do not try.
The flute is narrow, it is so
And down it one large crab might blow
While keenly others play their roles
And scuttle forth to block the holes.
They long for music on the beach
A washed up band lies in their reach
Pray do not tell them as they roam
About the shipwrecked whole trombone.