I used to live out by a mill,

And in a house up on a hill

Not far from my house or the lake,

At odd hours was awake

A neighbor of some strange religion,

Often sacrificed a pigeon

Or a lamb on certain days,

Said it was part of his ways,

Said he worshipped space and nature,

Pale and icy like a glacier,

Tall and thin and strange he was,

On his face not but a fuzz,

And always kept a shirt on lest

One saw the gills that lined his chest

Or webbing on his hands and toes

What he was, nobody knows,

Human, mainly, out of water

But rarely seen when days were hotter

For when submerged his body changed

Into a fishy thing deranged,

Scaly legs and spiky fins and

Webby footprints on the sand,

And as the bizarre footprints walked,

Of this many people talked,

They slowly transformed back to man

Not long after the tracks began,

But nobody saw it happen ever

For he was pretty quick and clever

And made sure not to be seen

In any but a twisted dream

Until he was all dry again

For without water he was man,

And all the people talked and stared

And warned strangers to beware

Of all the fishy goings-on

Like something from a children’s song

That made no sense but made them wonder

Of a young man, monster under

Who lived up on the marshy hill

By my house by the old mill.