A Galtish harper of some talent was singing “The Tattered Sea,” a song that had become popular after enough men had died to make calling humanity mankind sound a bit off. The word in vogue these last twenty years was kynd.
One day upon the Tattered Sea
I waded out upon the waves
A comely young man for to see
Who looked to me more knight than knave
Now swam he toward a maiden brave
Who treaded water in the brine
I should have left, my shame to save
But I swam after, close behind
For I was young and poorly bred
With much to learn of lechery
Beneath the waves I dunked my head
And what there should I hap to see?
I found a tail fin fairly twinned
Where I had sought four legs entwined
Said I, “O, brother, are you kynd?”
Said he, “No kynd, but surely kind
I’m kind enough to send you home
Though kynd above I seem to be
You’ll find no pleasure ’neath the foam
Nor husband in the Tattered Sea”
Then kindly did the mermaid speak
To teach a daughter of the kynd
“Go back to land and loam and seek
A legsome lad more fond than finned”
So turned I from the ocean cool
Much wiser than a maid might wish
For I swam out and found a school
Where lustily I sought a fish