Member-only story
I recently encountered an amusing poem.
It may be familiar to a number of readers, but I do not count myself amongst them.
Here it is:
“The Dying Fisherman’s Song
’Twas midnight on the ocean,
Not a streetcar was in sight,
The sun was shining brightly
For it had rained all that night.
’Twas a summer’s day in winter
The rain was snowing fast,
As a barefoot girl with shoes on,
Stood sitting on the grass.
’Twas evening and the rising sun
Was setting in the west;
And all the fishes in the trees
Were cuddled in their nests.
The rain was pouring down,
The sun was shining bright,
And everything that you could see
Was hidden out of sight.
The organ peeled potatoes,
Lard was rendered by the choir;
When the sexton rang the dishrag
Someone set the church on fire.
