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A bungalow Blown clean off a cliff Lands on sand At high tide the fishes come in in pairs They stare wide-eyed at the TV and the red leather sofa They play and chase through the curtains and the table legs They nibble cautiously at food from the flung-open freezer After supper they sit and sing by the fireside
Wonderful! I'd never have thought of coastal erosion as the tongue-in-cheek subject for a poem.