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