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.
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