Fishing Season

O lovely daughter of the fishmonger

Come we shall sail to Madagascar.

Only you and me, this summer.

If you will insist and are free till September.

We will sit by the moon

And sway to the tune

Of the blue-green kingfisher.

We will have servings of wine,

Bacon roasted with brine

And salads of cheery and cucumber.

All through the nights, we will count the lights

And talk with the delight of this and that, of what and

What not that we could ponder.

Till you will know, other than tonight there is no

Other night better in-spite

Which you will ever remember.