To understand this poem you may need a little back story. I’ve never been a fan of fish but I admit to being partial to a well thought out fish tank.
A few years ago my parents were given a tank and, as you do, put fish into it. Mostly the fish were small, mozzied around in a very boring manner and eventually died for one reason or another. When I was offered some goldfish from a large outdoor farm tank, I jumped at the chance to liven up mum’s sad aquarium. The lady said they were big and fast. Well, it took me an age of blind fishing with arms deep in murky green pea soup water but I caught four. Two of them were big mamas.
Now they dart around in mum and dad’s living room and I get to admire them every time I visit. I was driving home from one such visit when I made up this silly poem in remembrance of the lone fish mum had before I brought my four wild ones home.
One, two, three, four, five
My mum had a fish alive
Six, seven, eight, nine, ten
But it had a tragic end
In a client’s pound caught I
Four big woppers, my oh my
Into mum’s tank plopped they
To swim with hers and laugh and play
Little did we know right then
The new fish liked to play times ten
Here saw mum’s fish the light
It’s tomb stone reads ‘Died of Fright’
Why did we let it go
Because Dad said, ‘He’s fine, ho ho’
Which finger did he bite?
I’m not real sure, he died last night.
Aren’t you glad you read this blog?