Foul fish or fresh flowers?

Two fishwives of foul fish went with their wares

In bazaar all sold, back with their moneys shares

Black clouds, rain started, no time to run home

Sought shelter in a hut, besides thyme

Flowers were strewn about, fragrance in the air

The lady there a florist, sold them in the fair

The fishwives were fed well. A fine bed welcome

But no, they tossed about; sleep would not come

The fragrance of the flowers was too much for them

They thought, at last, the basket with foul fish, some
With it at their head, they lay in rest wholesome

That's us mortals with foul fun finite

We forget the full joy of God infinite

Lets wake up, behind us the dark dull night

Fishwives, road home, rain

Rest in florists home. No sleep

Fish vat at head. Snore

or

Fishwives, road home, rain

Rest in florists home. No gain

With fish vat cloud nine

For 6/6/2002 on 7/6/2002

Enacted by Cpt. Students