Betsys Return
poor black moor fish was not dead
sewer-landed on his head
quickly began upward swim
couldn’t get rid of little him
toilet is churning husband said
his mouth an oh, his face all red
a monster I bet he yelled out
followed by a swear and shout
He began to plunge away
then I heard him yell out “hey!”
Is that your black moor? To me
I ran to see, I ran to see.
It was surely my black Betsy!
I scooped her up with lots of glee
plunked her back in with goldfish, Brewer.
He began to scream she smelled like a sewer.
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