I once spoke softly long ago, 
of  Goldfish that I kept,
But now I tell another tale
-of how those fishies wept,

So the call had come to me, 
whilst grafting hard at work,
Apparently some little boy
-he gave the tank a jerk!

A little paddy, waddy, 
temper tantrum had he done,
And through the air, the fishies went, 
hard landing on their bum,

Poor old Charlie bless her soul, 
her phobia of fish,
Plopped them in a metal pan, 
with use of Noah's dish,

She told me that the two of them 
were flipping on the floor,
I said to her: 'the little sod! 
I'll boot him out my door!'

But happy now the Goldfish are, 
back safely in their home,
Except they're by the kitchen sink, 
so Charlie likes to moan,

It aint that nice to make the tea, 
while staring at my fish,
I fear one day she'll serve them 
up with chips, the perfect dish,

But what a trooper she had been, 
in saving them from harm,
I think the fishies like her now, 
she's gained their trust and charm,

Until next time the little boy 
comes knocking on my door,
And once again, I fear the goldfish, 
flipping on my floor!