Джазовая вариация на тему одной из самых любимых песен

Lived up. The goods do totter.
The tongue's in situ, the words are nil.
Fish in an orb of water
makes me embarrassed, and keeps the still.

Does not emit resplendence,
and watches sternly with no delight.
Fish, susurrate a sentence.
At least, for instance, "alive, alive".

Modals as tips I gathered,
despite privation, picked up a few.
Long list rolled up to rather
large box of cases. Ta-ta, adieu.

Rhythm of my pacing smolders,
not even nearly, but far astray.
Fish, do unfurl the shoulders.
The rue's unthought of, spook it away.

Autumn. The rain. The slumber.
A sleepless pressure, an endless sink.
Photo of someone somber
will come around and make a wink:

Do you remember tea room,
the one in Soho? I do and so!
Fish, I am sad and tearful,
I'm even sadder than blink ago.

Old song recounts of how
the tracks of children the waves will doff.
Visit? I'll pass for now.
Will come to leaving, will say - slept off.

Either I'll wait for longer,
won't leave the carpet. The Moon's inapt.
Autumn. The rue. The languor.
What's in the visit, since waves have flapped?

"Clean beast in two" I wonder
I've read somewhere, my ken beyond.
Fish in an orb of water
to my misfortune will not respond.

Flexible catching essence,
a tiny trinket, bluegill - alewife.
Fish, susurrate a sentence.
Unfurl the shoulders. Alive, alive.