Voice mail- Moby Dick

Call me. I thought I would sail.
Whenever my hypos get me to knocking people’s hats off
I get to sea as soon as I can.
All men cherish the ocean
washed by waves and
cooled by breezes.
Thousands upon thousands
of mortal men
fixed in ocean reveries
looking high aloft
to get a seaward peep
How are you?

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