Flying Escargo
Fish are smelly,
Oh so bad.
And yet Im fishing,
With My dad.
We awoke early,
Earlier than dawn.
The rooster still asleep,
My head in a fog.
Out in a dingee
This duo set sail
Only to be met by
A torrent of snails
All over me
They slithered and slawed
Oh so disgusting
I weezed and hawed
But my father,
Dead-set on fishing,
Continuted our journey,
And now Im just wishing,
… I could shower.
