Ode To A Goldfish
This sad sequence came as aftermath
To the day I gave my goldfish a bath.
She was so happy. There was nary a scowl,
as she got her rubdown with the towel.
Then, into the water she slid -- in the nude,
to swim. A vision of piscatorial pulchritude.
I do get sentimental about a fish so ornamental..
And I knew: for her to flourish, I must properly nourish.
But a dead battery in my hearing aid made me unable
to read the "dog food" label on the package on the table.
That's how I made the mistake,
I fed her that --instead of fish flake.
Soon after, my "Goldie" began to look moldy.
Her gold seemed old. Her scale was pale.
She gasped for water! She began to fail!
She stopped swimming! She wagged her tail!
That dog food had gone to the fish's head.
She now thought she was a quadruped.
Trying (with imagined hind leg) to scratch her ear,
She fell and killed herself-- fractured posterior.
The bathroom's hallowed hush was shattered by the toilet's flush.
I made sure that my fish's memorial ceremony
Had all the dignity--of burial at sea.
And above the toilet will hang forever--this eulogy.