Buried deep in the attic.
There is a spiral shell.
Sandy-colored and spiny on the outside,
But turn it over, and you will see that
The inside of the conch is a
Smooth, creamy pink.

And if you put your ear
To the opening, and be very quiet,
You will hear the grey-blue
Waves of the ocean, crashing in the distance.
And if you are extra and specially quiet,
You may even hear the wind.

Those three kings of orient are
Smoking giant smelly cigars.
We told them to stop, and they did;
(They knew better than to ignore a kid!)
Those three kings of orient are
No longer smoking giant cigars.

Cricket, cricket, singing high,
watching as the clouds roll by,
leaping under dark'ning sky,
chirping at the fireside

Cricket, cricket, singing slow,
watching as the sun sinks low,
basking in the red-orange glow,
listening as the breezes blow

Cricket, cricket, singing fast,
singing as the world goes past,
singing in the shadows cast,
sing to make the evening last