The Fish - 0093 - Current version after Bryan Waller Procter Pre-Existence
I sit beside the spring and wish
I had a silver tail,
so up the stream my trail could swish,
sunlight upon each scale,
till by some bay my school of fish
might spot a trawler's trail,
which, followed, must tense anguish net -
woe to temptatios sail!
Who would provide a tasty dish
one morn at market sale,
fed as fritters - perish first
scales weighed upon some scale,
no dawn to spawn or to cherish?
I blubber like a whale...
the thought sends shivers, - feverish
from seashore I turn tail
such crass ambitions vanish swift -
so here I leave my tale!
(18 June 1975)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
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