I have just performed the latest of at least seven fish funerals this year. Here are the words I read over the porcelain bowl as they go off on their long swim: Oh hush thee, my baby The night is behind us And black are the waters that sparkled so green The moon or the cold looks downward to find At rest in the hollow that wrestle between Where pillow meet pillow Then soft be thy prayer A weary beat flipper Is curled at thy knees The storm shall not wake thee Nor shark overtake thee Asleep in the arms of this slow swinging sea Where pillow meet pillow Then soft be thy prayer A weary beat flipper Is curled at thy knees The storm shall not wake thee Nor shark overtake thee Asleep in the arms of this slow swinging sea. Rudyard Kipling
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