Here rests his head upon the frappe of earth,
A fish to swim within the blender’s drone
That liquified at once his body’s worth,
Making milkshakes of his fins and bone.
Gold were his scales, and golden were his gills;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send:
For misery, he gave a soul that spills.
For Art, he threw his own self in the blend.
No further seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode.
He learned what every little goldfish knows:
There’s more out there to kill you than a rod.
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