Somehow I allways write about fish
Fish, swish, dish? Said the smarmy monkey
To himself
Looking for a suitable rhyme
What a funny end for a love poem,
His lovely lady thought as she read it
I'll grant your every wish, Eternally, Your Fish
Endearingly quaint,
She mused, twizzling her hair
And thinking of salmon
In her dreams, at the ball
He didn't wear tails
As he spun her on the floor
He had one
That night, all alone
She went down to the wharf
And there all about
A thousand fine fish
Slithered their scales seductively at her
Watching, as his fair lady
Slipped into the sea
The smarmy monkey regretted his choice of words
I should have used dish, he sighed to himself
As she swam off
That night, he dreamed he had gills
That his fins were flipping
And his tail swishing
But the next day he set off, determined
To snare, a new monkey mistress
Less enamored of Osteichthyes
However, seafood was the new stunning
Noone wanted a monkey,
When they could have a sea urchin
And a poet with no gills
Had nothing to offer
Years later the monkey wandered the land
Hunched and old, crippled
And alone, warning all who crossed his path
Be careful how you choose your rhymes
In spite of proffered dimes
For fear, of course, of mimes.