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If you must sail out in a gale,
Please heed this cautionary tale

Sometimes the breeze can briskly blow
Dislodging any loose chapeau,
To fiercely fling it in the drink
Where, sadly, it is doomed to sink
Beyond the reach of jibe or tack
Or arms too short to snatch it back
Unless by chance the fates allow
That it should be fished out somehow
To sail another day instead
Atop some other old salt’s head.

So bid farewell, eschewing rancour,
And next time use your chin as anchor.

* So sue me, Margaret Mitchell