Mythical Piscator
I talk to herring in the dark when no one is around
It wouldn't do for all to know
That those who feel the afterglow will soon be run to ground
And frozen in bizarre tableaux
My mother's son is waiting now to see if you will come
But this I could not confirm or deny
And those who feast on After Eights shall shortly quit this slum
And those who don't shall never die
Leastwise not audibly
The mack'rel on the other hand prefer the light of sun
They loathe the darkness, as I do myself;
Their silv'ry fins the starry darkness shun
And banish it from their sleek pelf
My other's son is waiting now to see if you will go
But this I could not deny or confirm
For those who serve the longer term are not the ones I know
And those who don't have caught the germ
The Mother Sun brings blessings far beyond the ken of fish
Enriching land with blossoms, grains and fruit
And, thus persuaded, men of yore did faint for Lilian Gish
And lost themselves in hot pursuit
Of all that lies on distant shores and cannot be o'erseen
The story, once you've heard it, can be told
To those who haunt the northern Pole and make a sign obscene
-- In hope, no doubt, of garnering strange fruit?
And eating in the Garden and their birthday suit
And thus in haste we must conclude
That those who slander Han the bold will find themselves pursued
Contributors: | The Agent Apsley, KT, TG, Roland, Elizabeth, R G Bhaji. |
Poem finished: | 7th December 1999. |