Nighttime in Kharkov (a plumbing poem)

Twas nighttime in Kharkov, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Denis was napping, all snug in his bed,
While visions of orange juice danced in his head.
After 8 hours of cold-you do the math,
I had just settled in for a lovely warm bath.

When there in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bath to see what was the matter.
Away to the sink I flew like a flash,

And a geyser of water erupted with a crash.

Although the city was covered in new-fallen snow
scalding hot water was beginning to flow

over the counter and onto the floor

the ocean of water continued to pour.

The faucet had corroded, so suddenly, so quick
there was no way to stop it, no easy trick.
More rapid than eagles the tidal wave came,
And I whistled, and shouted, and called Denis by name!

"Now Denis! now, darling! We've sprung such a leak!
All hands to the deck, the future looks bleak!
I'll do the bailing, you fix the sink!
Now hurry up! Hurry! We're starting to sink!"

He ran toward the kitchen with sleep in his eyes

As I frantically sped to keep the floor dry.

See, we live at the top, and I have a feeling

the neighbors below don't want water on their ceiling.

After minutes of struggle we were almost afloat,

All we needed now was a little rowboat.

The situation was dire, no minutes to waste

down to the wire, a life or death race.

Timur answered his phone and wasted no time

(In fact he's the hero of this little rhyme)

He told us the secret of the second “off” switch

located behind the toilet in a well-hidden niche.

The boiling water stopped flowing, and all became still

we dried off the wall and mopped up the spill.

We sit here now calmly in the Ukrainian moonlight

Nighttime in Kharkov, and to all a good night!

Post Script:

Ukrainian apartments: if it's broken, you pay

Whatever you do, you can't disobey.

To the market tomorrow, we'll be on our way

to buy a new faucet, hip hip hooray. (NOT!)