A poem of a fish

“Can I read it,
The one about the fish?”

“The fish? What fish?
Oh I served it in the dish!”

“Oh yeah? You have?
But I meant your story!”

“A story about a fish?
I don’t want ┬áto bore thee!”

“How could it be boring?
Haven’t you seen Finding Nemo?
A story of a father,
A son whose fin wouldn’t grow,
Traipsing the ocean,
With all of its flow,
Not sure if his son lives,
How could he know?”

“Well actually your right,
That does sound intriguing.
I wonder if my own would
have fun story weaving.
Can I match such a story,
It’s up’s and it’s downs,
Can I stir such emotions,
Making laughter from frowns.
Can I make something coherent,
something with meaning?
Which such a great story,
With a potential for screening?”

“Well can I read it?
Your poem of the fish?
I desire its words,
Please, it’s my wish!”

“Well can you not see?
This very converse,
Is the poem you seek
You’ve filled your own purse!
In our short back and forth,
What we’ve done here and now,
Fulfills all your needs,
Take a look and a bow!”

“But this isn’t a story.
or poem of a fish!”

“Oh! But it is,
It was served in the dish!
The one you’ve been eating,
Throughout this story arc!”

“Oh that’s rather upsetting,
This is all very dark…”

 

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