The Story of Peter and the Halibut

[Caryl]

Poor Peter was, at six years old,

A martyr to the common cold.

It stopped him going, many a time,

To party or to pantomime,

For when the longed-for morning broke

Poor Peter would begin to croak,

To sneeze and snuffle, cough and sniff

And use his pocket handkerchief

In vain they dosed the wretched child

With physics strong and physics mild;

For though he took them as he should

They did him not the faintest good.

At last his parents in despair

Consulted Doctor Debonnaire.

"Haliver-oil!" the great man cries.

"Yes, that's the cure that I'd advise:

For halibut–I grant it's odd–

Contains more vitamins than cod."

But wayward Peter did not like

The stuff, and straightway went on strike.

He fought and scratched and kicked and swore

And stamped upon the nursery floor.

In vain they coaxed him and cajoled him;

"Open your mouth!" his parents told him:

But Peter kept it firmly shut

Against the oil of halibut.

That night (a trifle feverish

Perhaps) he saw a monstrous fish

Swimming, as though in deep-sea gloom,

About his little moonlit room.

A drooping mouth the creature had;

Its eyes were large and round and sad,

And every time it moved its fins

The air grew thick with vitamins.

"Pray tell me," Peter said (for he

Was tender-hearted as could be),

"What makes you such a tearful fish?

Speak–is there anything you wish?"

"Alas!" the halibut replied,

"I weep because of wounded pride.

In vain for children's sakes I toil–

They do not like my liver oil.

So here I swim, a gloomy ghost

Hated by those I love the most."

"Ah, say not so!" the boy exclaimed.

"You make me bitterly ashamed.

See–I will swallow it with pleasure!"

And down his throat it went full measure.

The halibut, immensely cheered,

Smiled gratefully, then disappeared:

And Peter since that day, I'm told,

Has never had a single cold.

[disgustipated]

[disgustipated]

i'm not sure that if that thing offered me his liver juice i would drink it with such pleasure