The Little Fish

 

I wish I was a little fish,

a little fishy me,

I’d swim and swim and swim and swim,

(I like swimming),

Swimming swimminglingly.

 

I’d flip my fins, do tail-spins

With an in-built mini-motor,

Act the lair and really scare

Away hook, line and floater.

 

If I were a little fish,

a little fishy I,

I’d make a little fishy wish

And wish that I could fly.

 

I’d fly and fly and fly and fly,

Flying up and down,

And in between, to see the scene,

Fly out, about and around.

 

I’d loop a kooky loop and fly

Through dark and drizzly weather,

Any where that’s full of air;

A fish without a feather.

 

I’d run on ultra-octane gas

With three thick wheels for legs.

This little town in yoke will drown

When I bomb it with my eggs.

 

Sky, sky, everywhere

Except where clouds go sailing.

Dry sky, anywhere

It is not rain or hailing.

 

I’d join the guys who fly the skies;

Naturally quite heroic.

I wouldn’t mind the wind behind,

But hope I don’t get air-sick!

 

I’d join a wacky Wild West Show

Touring South East Asia,

Teaching “curry and rice is velly nice,

But McDonalds will amazia.”

 

In black and white with banjo blue

I’d busk in Larry Park,

And Fred Astaire would stop and stare

When I whistled up a snark.

 

And who could keep me off the green

When I see a snooker table?

Shooting crap or `tender-trap’,

I’m cooler than Clark Gable.

 

I’d flap and fluff my way to fame,

A modern Petomaniac,

And do all manner of magic things

In white-tie & tails and top-hat.

 

And anyone who didn’t laugh,

I’d poop right in his soup dish.

I have my pride!  It’s not for nought I’d

Be a little fish.

 

Bridh Hancock