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.