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To Pr. F. R.B. TS.N.

Dear Sir,

We regret
That untimely upset
Which appeared on your innocent ceiling,
We admit we have erred,
So don't think it occurred
Through a fit of malicious ill-feeling.

We were very remiss,
But it happened like this;
A consignment of lively Crustacea
Had arrived on that day
From the sea—Island Bay—
All rattling about in a case, sir.

Before we could pass
Them on to our class
We found it essential to slaughter
These crayfish marine
In an oblong tureen
Of formol diluted with water.

Our action was rash—
There's a terrible splash
When crayfish are placed in a mixture
As repugnant as that
Which we poured in the vat,
Though of course once they're in they're a fixture.

They could only deplore
The chance to explore
Their misty Crustacean future
On the final death throe
They expose, as you know,
The Thoracic abdominal suture.

Their struggles were vain,
Though we hope without pain,
But each splashed with so boisterous a claw
That he managed to spill
Rather more than a gill
Of formalin on to the floor.

So we hope you're not peeved,
Or even aggrieved,
But if you're still feeling that way, Sir,
Just remember that you
Are not innocent too,
A fact which you prove every day, Sir.

For the times that we've been
Overwhelmed with chlorine
Are really too countless to mention;
I'm sure you'll confess
That the gas H2S
May involve most severe mental tension.

So if the cap fits
We'd better cry quits,
And each do our utmost to muzzle
The horrible smells
Our profession impels,
Though how we'll succeed is a puzzle.

—Colonel.