Nesbit Nemo built himself a submarine.
He coloured it orange, and aquamarine.
“It should safely dive to five hundred feet,”
It’s interior was functional and frightfully neat!
He wanted to power it with an engine of steam,
But he knew, in his heart, this was an unrealistic dream.
“I’ll power it with batteries instead.”
But he couldn’t get the steam concept out of his head!
Come the date of the inaugural launch,
Nesbit got himself ready, tucked in his paunch.
So he could fit into the conning tower hatch.
Then he slammed it shut, fastened the latch.
His submarine was wheeled down the boat ramp.
It had a few leaks, things progressively damp.
He fired up the engine, was soon on his way,
Twas an exciting event, this launch day.

Now, Wilbur Walrus was quite a fat gent,
He was on his pleasure cruiser, with his wife, omnipresent
She accompanied him on all his trips,
Keeping a close watch, between martini sips.
“There’s a funny thing in the water, over there,”
Said she, forever combing her hair.
“It looks like some bits of floating scrap,”
“You’d best avoid it, or your boat will be crap!”
For the pleasure cruiser was made of fibreglass,
And rather thin at that. Best to slowly pass.
At that very moment, Nesbit saw in his periscope.
That that Channel was too narrow for both vessels to cope.
One must simply slow speed, give way.
But, clearly, Wilbur Walrus thought he’d the run of the bay.

Nesbit Nemo, who’d thought far, far ahead,
Had built a torpedo tube in his bow frontal bed.
Not only that, but torpedo's too,
They’d help when his day of reckoning was due!
He firmly shoved one, into the spout,
Determined to outfox that pleasure cruiser lout.
He lined up, in his periscope, that pleasure cruiser,
That larrikin folk had turned into a boozer,
Hooting and hollering for all to hear and see,
A trail of empty bottles polluting the sea.

Nesbit Nemo “tut-tutted,” his breath did fog,
The periscope sight as he stared agog.
“Fire One,” he ordered, in a manner most brisk,
His finger obediently pressed button, no risk.
A whoosh of white water and bubbles,
Away shot the torpedo to cause many troubles.
Then there was a quite massive bang!
A black smoke pall, over the bay, did hang.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Nesbit, “I’ve murdered the lot!”
Flotsam and Jetsam punctuated the smokey blot.
“I’ll have to steam quickly around the next cape,”
“To rapidly effect a clever escape.”
Thus he turned his helm nor’nor west,
To reach that cape, at a speed he thought best.
But, as he was rounding that steep promontory,
His bank of batteries ran flat, under the sea.
Nesbit Nemo realized now, his goose might be cooked!
All he saw was “under-water”, wherever he looked.
As he sank deeper and deeper, towards the sea-bed,
“If only I’d listened to what I first said,”
“And powered my craft with old-fashioned steam.”
“Then I would have realized my escape dream.”