The morning’s Nugget took a cruise.
Down the pipes it did ooze.
Across the seas and oceans wide.
Washed far away by a fierce tide.
Floating in the sun it did snooze.
It woke upon a sandy shore.
Seaweed tangled tight to its core.
Then discovered by a native tribe.
Not realising it came from my hide,
Worshipped like a god in fabled lore.
The Nugget brought them good luck.
The natives thought, gold they’d struck.
But things went sour as time went on.
The Nugget’s foul scent, it did pong.
So the natives said “Begone you foul muck!”
Discarded like Wilson in Cast Away.
The Nugget did drift for many a day.
A close encounter with a shark.
And spat back into the sea’s dark.
Drifting again, this lump of brown clay.
Alone and cold in the freezing waters.
Wishing to be back in warmer quarters.
It sunk down to the ocean bed’s bottom.
Amongst a shipwreck of times forgotten.
Began to dissolve like gooey mortars.
Seaweed held together its muck.
Dissolve it did not by this bit of luck.
It rolled into the shipwreck’s hold.
Sheltered from the freezing cold.
Stumbled upon treasure it had struck!
To be continPOOed!
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