Study The Classics. Poem by Roy Ballard

Among the Greek sepulchral epigrams
I suffered as a schoolboy I recall
one Parmis, youthful fisherman of clams
and any fish that can be hooked and hauled,
flashing and twisting, from the purple sea.
It was a tale reported in The Times,
an echo of those sad and ancient rhymes,
the other day that has reminded me.
Parmis, Callignotus's son, had caught
a little fish and while his right hand sought
for balance put it in his mouth and Oh!
It straightway wriggled down his throat and so
he rolled in agony beside his lines,
his narrow gullet blocked by fins and spines
and slimy fish. His hooks, his rods, his boat
availed him nothing, could not clear his throat
and Parmis died. So did the fish I think.
Three thousand years have passed as in a blink
and by an English stream an angler stands
who, having caught a fish, is short of hands
and dies the self-same death. It goes to show
that classics is a subject all should know.