To the Drowning

Given a dog’s chance to survive You won’t your swimming passions revive: It would be over between you and butterfly strokes, A thousand ‘All over’ with them even in jokes… …And between you and jetty releases of mouthed water You, ready to end its physical life with a mortar! Allowed to live again, Your church shan’t fail to gain I predict: A hundred tuberous yams And an appreciable number of Jewish rams That should in any parish stir thrills As well as tickle divine nostrils… Now, erased from your mind Are your gay strides towards your crusher Its beautiful, treasured bank completely cast behind And your greedy glances at what its scenes usher Which you’d feared its disappearance the next moment And you make a lousy loser of the worthier than ornament… Sorry for the Drowning Fighting his fate with mainly frowning.