said the dachshund to the dish:

"please supply me with a fish."

just like magic, it was there--

not a single scale was spared.

"thank you, dish, but i implore

that you supply a smidgen more."

once again, there was a trout

promptly under dachshund's snout.

though he ate. and ate. and ate.

never empty was his plate.

"i'm sorry, dish, but i must say

i cannot eat much more today."

still he ate.

and ate.

and ate.

still the trout lay on his plate.

before too long, the deed was done--

(i can't get up, i can't get up)--

in the battle of wills, the dish had won.

still he ate.

and ate.

and ate.

and ate.

and ate.

and ate.

and ate.