Farewell to Arms
Dear friends, can we forbear to weep
For Paul the octopus,
Wrapped in his last eternal sleep?
Alas, ‘twas ever thus.
Intelligent, eight-footed, he
Lived but a two-year span
Who could have lived a century
If he had been a man.
But is there man alive, outside
The works of science fiction,
Whose cerebellum could provide
Such wonders of prediction?
Squid seer, enjoy your sainted state,
Much-mourned cephalopod,
Reposed in the octangulate
Protection of your God.
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