The Delta Smelt is doomed—
End of the line.
The population once mushroomed;
Now they’re dyin’,
Quickly they’re dyin’.

To irrigate land in
The state’s desert south,
Huge pumps take the standin’
Water right out of the Delta’s mouth. . .

Send it pell-mell down to
H’wood and Vine—
And vines.

In the sloughs,
Fish are few
More we lose,
It’s bad news—numbers down
To a point where
They may not soon be
Swimming around.

It's fishy.

The Delta Smelt is doomed—
In flows the brine.