A fisherman's tale.
It seemed the little fish could hardly swim ;
I thought his back (if fish had such),
was maybe broke and felt so very sad for him.
For upstream I knew there lurked a Pike
of fearsome manner, deadly bite!
And this poor helpless little thing ;
So slender, passive in his look,
might perish in this sylvan brook.
So thus a lure I swiftly cast,
(designed for fishes swimming past),
then patient set myself in wait
to see if he would take the bait.
But Oh! That artful little fish
escaped with one balletic swish,
then swift along the brookstream's flow
he ventured where no fish should go ;
Straight to the jaws of that old Pike
and perished in one deadly strike!
But I accept 'tis nature's way
that predator and natural prey,
all have their place, their part to play,
and I most willingly concede
that God's design has greatest need.
Still, foolish heart will rule the head
and many a tear that day I shed ;
For I could not escape a wish
that I had hooked the little fish ~
And denied old Pike his tasty dish.
Published on writebuzz®: