This story isn't of the squid
who, from fame and fortune slid,
undone by love and lust amid
her watery boudoir,
but of the octopus who held
her on a pedestal, bespelled
by beauty long and tentacled;
he loved her from afar.
He watched her slowly waste away
until that wet and clammy day
that she gave up and passed away
prostrate upon the sandbar.
The grief with which he was beset
then forced him to the fisher's net,
and his untimely end he met
inside a sushi bar.
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