A poem by Felicia Dorothea He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. Possibly.

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
A seagull circled high above
And crapped upon his head.

The seagull was of giant size -
No ordinary bird;
It didn't just mess up his hair,
It buried him in turd.

And as the flames drew closer
He prepared his fate to meet -
But the faecal insulation
Did protect him from the heat.

The outer layer of the shit
Was baked and boiled and fried,
But the cool and moist guano
Kept the boy alive inside.

And when the ship had foundered
The boy remained afloat,
Encased in hardened faeces,
And was picked up by a boat.

They took him to his mum, who hailed
Him with a joyful shout -
But oh! what a calamity!
They could not get him out.

The shit had set like concrete,
And no matter how they tried,
They could not crack the crust - he'd have
To stay there till he died.

And the moral of this story is:
Get off a burning ship,
Or spend your life sequestered
In a giant seagull shit.

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