There was a little boy on the crew, And yet nothing did he knew. Amazed at the navigator's route, He still couldn't get a thing except his sound-proof 'flute'. 'Aye,don't you get a word urchin', bawled the master; But he kept on playing his flute, Neither countering nor eying his chief, Just contemplating a baidara near the island of Aleut. He was unmistakably thinking about the 'toothwalker', Who had left him for callous broker. His tinge on the baidara may have masqueraded the master, Nevertheless artiste, was sure his deal was made by that giber. Riddled with the HIS rationality, Frightened, terrified, alarmed; He jumped into the marine hoping for a blood-less life.