Fishy dishy

Oh fish, oh fish upon my plate, you look a tasty treat.

I’ll grab my knife and fork, to wit your tender flesh I’ll eat.

Just wait dear boy, pray stay your ploy, and hear me out I say,

We could be friends, please make amends, put down your cutlery.

Hold on, you sea-found creature, what's this you say to me?

You are my best-loved supper, it's what you are meant to be.

Food I may be to you, my lad, but how d'you think I feel,

One minute I'm swimming out yonder, the next I am your meal.

Now wait a moment there, fishy, what do you think you mean?

You're already battered and fried, as plainly can be seen.

How can you possibly utter, this untimely plea for life,

Mercy is far too late for you, you're already a victim of knife.

Yes, I know it sounds quite absurd, to ask you to spare my skin,

But have you stopped to consider, the position you appear to be in?

Now, don't try to turn the tables, as seems to be your wish,

Please don't suggests I am bonkers, for talking to a dead fish...

Rayyymond! Stop muttering to yourself and eat yer dinner.

Yes, Mum!

Please note, events depicted in this verse are entirely fictional and any resemblance between the characters herein and any real talking fried fish, or for that matter boys called Raymond, are entirely unintended.

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