The Cloistered Oyster.

How doth the gentle oyster grow,
A picture good to see,
Bivalvulously nourishing
Itself for you and me;
It wots not of such maladies
As whooping cough or housemaid's knees.
How innocent the oyster grows,
In cool sequestered calm,
Securely parked in briny beds,
Removed from any harm.
It murmurs happy little songs—
It's never heard of restaurants.
Oh, oyster, as you disappear,
I love to hear you glug,
And gurgle with a sound that's like
The pulling of a plug.
I love your famous glide to death;
Heroically steeped
In vinegar, how often to
Destruction have you leaped.