Ms. Belvedere oh won't you oblige
my simple request for a spot of tea
Into the fire I've cast my letters
from you I never received

I sang SOS to you through the radio
but you were not scanning when I tried
someone else heard and to me, responded
"When does swimming turn into drowning?" I cried.

'Dere I see you in sketches on wooden tables
and inserts in the newspapers now and then
When even if your radio's on one day
I'll likely never swim again