I once ate a dolphin on porpoise.
At the end of a Pompano pier.
My cousin said it was tasty,
Not being hasty, I ordered with fear.
"It's a fish," he said.
But my heart not my head,
Fought me instead, saying,
"Don't eat a relative so dear."
It arrived to my eye,
All steamy and wry.
Some call it Mahi-Mahi,
I had no choice but to try.
It was firm and light,
To my palate's delight.
Quite meaty and pleasant to chew.
I’d rather eat meat, wouldn’t you?
Pope John Paul once said,
"My English she is no so good.
My Polish she is so polish.
And my Italian she is wood."
Unlike the great Roman actors,
Who spoke with English accents.
Leaving real Italians to grovel,
In the dirt without thespian tents.
What has this got to do with dolphins?
That's a very good point, my friend.
Just needed to make this poem longer,
And come to its proper end.
Read War's End, the Novel