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July 6, 2017


A small boat glides into my still and quiet cove,

Two young teens, hoping to add to their fishing trove.

Baited fishing hooks and lures hang from a pole,

It’s quiet, the hunt begins, they are on patrol.


The fish sees nothing of lures and hooks, rods and reels,

He’s moved by what he sees and moved by what he feels.

The bait is slyly tempting, gleaming right at dawn,

The duped fish takes the bait; the morsel is the con.


For a brief moment the morsel is so tasty!

It’s just as delectable as any French pastry!

But in a flash, the barbed hook tears into flesh,

His doom is sealed by the hook now locked and enmeshed.


The sharp pain is searing as the line is reeled in,

No matter the thrashing, the fish just will not win.

Out of the blue water and into the green net,

The fish has left his home, in shame and vile regret.


The boys are gleeful, being smarter than the fish!

They came, they saw, they conquered, getting their wish!

Within seconds, that fish will be a trophy,

His plight is sealed, on a pizza with anchovy.


A roaring lion prowls, seeking to devour,

Satan is a fisherman, wants you in his pow’r.

With tempting bait and sly lures, his hook, rod and reel,

He hopes you’ll bite on what you see and what you feel.



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