My grandfather lived for his water:
He just couldn't swallow enough.
As he said to my mother (his daughter),
"I'll tell you what, this is the stuff."
He wouldn't care where it had sprung from -
The bottle, the river, the tap;
In fact, it might just have been wrung from
A raincoat, the careless old chap.
Alcohol - nothing was plainer -
He saw as the source of much grief,
And the story of Jesus at Cana
Offended his deepest belief.
"Water's our major component,"
He told any listener, intent:
He spoke as its major exponent,
And he was one hundred per cent.
One night he fell into a river:
The papers announced he had drowned,
But in fact (and it still makes me shiver)
The truth was, he couldn't be found.