The midnight knock is followed by a voice,
a raspy bass, “Hey, open up, it’s Joyce!”
"Tell me, do you mean the Joyce whose fame's
based on Trees, or are we talking James?"
"To write" she answered "was my dearest wish;
but I should say I am in fact a fish..."
I cracked the door, and saw that line 2's "bass"
should not have rhymed with "face", but "[something crass]".
I'm cursed by TYPO, keeper of the keys
I'd beg for help, but I do not have knees.
I thought I knew the face, but wasn't sure:
"Hey -- is this Joyce the Mermaid at the door?"
"Yes! It's me I'm dried out, and I'm woozy.
Let's talk while I relax in your jacuzzi
How come you don't recall my voice, my dear?
There was a time its timbres charmed your ear."
I said "Come in for lunch. You'll find a plaice
inside." She disappeared without a trace.
I went out fishing for her. In the river
of murky mist, the air gave me a shiver.
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